


The Wretcher

by merpprem



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Amnesia, Fluff and Angst, Harry swears a lot, Inspired by The Witcher, M/M, Mage Tom Riddle, Moral Dilemmas, Slow Burn, Tom Riddle is a Closeted Sweetheart, War, Witcher Harry Potter, Worldbuilding, like a lot of fluff and angst, there's a war going on, well what do you expect, you don't need to know anything about the witcher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:34:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24941647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merpprem/pseuds/merpprem
Summary: “You know my name.” he said slowly. “Don’t you?”“Heard of… the magic genius… after the Blizzard?” Harry heard his sword clatter to the floor. The colors were blending together. Harry blinked thrice, looking at the ceiling and back at Voldemort’s face.Then it clicked. He had been attacked by a man who had studied and mastered magic in less than two decades.“I’m not gonna get paid enough for this… am I now?”Harry is a witcher, a monster slayer for hire who goes all around the country exchanging his services for coin. Tom is a brilliant mage in the Slytherin District with a mean streak, an awful history of mood swings and the potential to take over the whole country if he saw fit.Even if he can't remember the first eighteen years of his existence, at least Harry could still understand the concept of witchers primarily working alone. It was a little unfortunate that Tom, for all his intelligence, couldn't grasp such a thing.Well, at least Harry would now have company whenever he gets himself kidnapped or maimed.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 76
Kudos: 315
Collections: Harry Potter





	1. Exposition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Terrific_Lunacy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terrific_Lunacy/gifts), [RenderedReversed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenderedReversed/gifts).



> Hi! I'm so excited to share with you all a fic that I actually planned! *loud gasp* Me, planning? We clearly don't go well together most of the time, but I think... I think I'm getting the hang of it HAHAHAHA :D A couple of things to take note about this fic:
> 
> 1\. The Wretcher is not actually Harry Potter characters in the world of The Witcher. Harry was inspired by The Witcher, but the actual world and everything else was brought about by my own nonsense. So, you don't have to know a thing about The Witcher, it's a completely different world which is quite scary because one misstep from me and the entire foundation of this fic may or may not collapse *sweatdrop*
> 
> 2\. Italicized paragraphs with a bunch of descriptions are the parts where Harry uses his enhanced senses, intentionally or unintentionally.
> 
> I hope you find Exposition fascinating and enjoyable to read! :>

_ Grass, wet grass beneath his back, along with something sharp and uncomfortable. Tiny droplets of rain falling and pattering down his cheek, the sound of a thunderstorm approaching quite the ways away. He could hear the wind howling, the croaks of a frog nearby and the hooting of a faraway owl. There was a heavy weight in his right palm, and a much lighter weight on his left ring finger.  _

He opened his eyes, immediately groaning in pain when the dim light assaulted his sensitive pupils. He threw his left arm over his eyes, curling into his side. 

His stomach hurt. His head hurt even worse. 

_ The scent of blood, but it was dry and old. Flaky.  _ He touched the back of his head, hissing when it sent a fresh wave of pain through his skull. He curled even tighter until his knees were digging into his abdomen, pressing his arm harder against his eyes until he could pretend that the sting was not because of the tears that threatened to fall.

_ The metallic taste of blood in his mouth, the smell of rotting meat a stone’s throw away from him, a butterfly’s dead body on the bark of a tree. He could hear the buzzing of flies like it was right next to his ear, but no, his senses told them that they were even farther away than the dead butterfly. Daring to open his eyes once more, he squinted against the harsh light, his surroundings more painful to look at than it was vivid, and why was it so bright when he was sure that it wasn’t the sun but the moon staring back at him, cutting through the clouds? _

He felt like he was going to die right there from the agony of his injuries, all of which he could acutely feel. He could feel the way his ribcage was practically shattered, poking into his organs in all the wrong ways, he could feel his knee wobbling, the bone displaced. His arms were weak, he couldn’t even lift his right arm, a heavy weight—a sword, he realized, trapping his hand. 

He fell back into unconsciousness. 

When he woke up in the morning, the sun peeking out from the horizon, he stood up and looked around the clearing he found himself in with no hint of past injury. He walked with a fully healed knee, breathed with the lungs inside his mended ribcage, and he put his sword back in its sheath with the vitality of any regular soldier.

Strange thing was that he couldn’t remember anything from last night, not even the pain that he had gone through. He couldn’t remember why he woke up with dried tear tracks fresh on his face either.

It took him an hour of walking through the forest before he realized that he couldn’t remember anything at all. 

* * *

The country of Hogwarts was divided into four domains: the Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Districts. In the middle of these districts were The Crossroads, several clusters of villages encircling a smaller walled city where the King’s Dome was built. This was where the ruler of Hogwarts was to stay. 

Around a twelfth of the population were born with the gift of magic, most of these magicals being sired in the Slytherin District. It was rumored that long ago, magic wielders and ordinary humans lived peacefully, working together and guided by their shared vision of a prosperous and noble land, but that rumor was hardly relevant when faced with reality. Non-magicals felt a number of emotions towards their magical counterparts. Their amazement easily melted into jealousy and fear before simmering into an inherent hatred, which only grew stronger as it was passed down from generation to generation. Magic wielders, on the other hand, started to believe in their superiority, responding to the ordinary humans’ spite with a venomous repugnance of their own.

Anything beyond the walled domains were the Unbordered Lands, which were dangerous places teeming with monsters and bloodthirsty creatures. But monsters didn’t always keep away from the walls, and people didn’t always have the luxury to stay safely behind their gates. At war with each other and at war with monsters, Hogwarts had faced a seemingly inevitable collapse. In desperation, some non-magicals who yearned for peace and safety resorted to feeding their best warriors with mutagenic mushrooms and plants. These warriors were known to be the first witchers, mutated non-magicals with enough strength and power to slay monsters that required nearly a whole army full of soldiers.

As witchers grew stronger with more mutations and more difficult trials, they soon received the same treatment as the magicals once did, but far worse. Society shunned them for being inhuman, branded them as cruel and unfeeling. This distrust led to many deaths that could have easily been prevented, had the citizens of Hogwarts been more willing to call upon a witcher’s help. Even more unrest brewed between the inhabitants of Hogwarts, but their own affairs couldn’t precede their natural instinct for survival. People started to turn to these monster slayers for hire, exchanging coin for their services. 

Things changed for the better out of necessity. Magicals and non-magicals started trading and living amongst each other. Wars between the domains completely ceased, and witchers were generally left alone or treated politely. Hogwarts was about to enter a period of peace, right until magical supremacist Lord Grindelwald rose into power. After being banished from his homeland Durmstrang, he started to gain a following among some of the more radical magic wielders of Hogwarts. He named his disciples the Death Eaters.

Hogwarts was thrown into another era of bloodshed, a series of wars between the magical supremacists and those who stood for equality. Lord Dumbledore, the acting Hogwarts ruler and a sorcerer with magic rivaling that of the Dark Lord, finally bested Grindelwald in a magical duel with the help of the Order of the Phoenix. However, right before he perished, the Dark Lord had casted a potent curse that damned Hogwarts into a three-year-long winter. The curse and the long season of ice and snow were called the Blizzard. Thousands of people had met their demise during the Blizzard, having little means to earn money, find food or cure sickness.

It was during the Blizzard when Lord Fudge saw an opportunity to oust Lord Dumbledore from power. He started a movement, bringing back the outdated animosity towards all things magical. Many followed, choosing to blame all magicals for the disaster that was the longest winter humans had ever faced. Lord Fudge’s soldiers were mostly Aurors, law enforcers who used to guard the four domains before the Blizzard. The Order had no choice but to participate in an unofficial three-way war between them, the remaining Death Eaters and Fudge’s Aurors.

It was during the first year of the Blizzard that Harry was born. 

It was during the third and last year of the Blizzard that Tom learned he was magical. 

But when the Blizzard finally ceased, hatred and violence merely continued.

* * *

_ “Harry, will you tell me a story?” _

_ “It’s way past your bedtime, young man.” _

_ “B-but…” _

_ “Oh, alright, but I’ve told you so many already. I wonder if I’ve got any new stories to spare.” _

_ “I’m fine with an old tale! Sometimes I don’t remember the older ones anyway.” _

_ “You sure, bud?” _

_ “Hearing it a second time doesn’t actually make the story any less interesting.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot. I love plotty stuff :"<
> 
> I hope you guys liked it. I would love to know what you guys think and answer any questions you guys might have! Please stay safe everyone! <3 Until next time!


	2. Act II: Reenacting - Scene I

Harry knew that absolutely nothing would end up going right if he walked in the tavern. 

Needless to say, there wasn’t much deliberation before Harry decided to walk right in the fucking tavern. 

_Douse the candles,_ Harry hissed in his head while his actual face twisted into a half-scowl. He walked calmly to the innkeep, a man in his mid-forties who was pretending not to notice the sudden thick silence that befell the room. Anybody with half a brain could tell that he owned the place, considering that he was wiping glasses behind a wooden counter and was the only one who possessed a face Harry could tolerate for more than two minutes. In other words, he was the only one who managed a semi-polite expression in the whole room. _Look the bloody hell away, avert your eyeballs! I’ll cut you all up!_

People stared and they stared hard as he slowly approached the innkeep, someone who had actually bothered to know Harry’s name and therefore didn’t treat him like he was the dirt under his fingernails. Fortescue casually looked up and gave him a polite smile, leaning on the forearm he had draped over the high counter. Thanks to Harry’s enhanced witcher senses, he managed to catch the first few whispers from all across the other side of the tavern. 

_“Ye gods, it be a fuckin’ witcher in the flesh!”_

_“You don’t say, a witcher? Hell, yous all better leave ‘fore trouble brews.”_

_“Inhuman scum.”_

_“Best to stay clear from that nasty witcher business.”_

“Ah, so the Boy-Who-Lived finally deigned to visit my humble establishment,” Fortescue gave him a toothy grin. The whispers were starting to grow louder, more confident as the seconds ticked, but Harry irritably focused on Fortescue’s voice and his only. He was not in the mood to listen to any of the usual judgemental drivel. 

Harry couldn’t exactly blame them for their wariness, though. He had two short swords strapped to his back after all, and commoners were already uneasy enough around people with one.

“Don’t call me that,” he groused and climbed on top of the particularly high barstool. “Got any cider?”

“You look like you can use a spirit instead.” Well, if that wasn’t the most polite way to tell someone they looked like shit. Harry sighed. 

“Fine, I’ll take it.” Hopefully the strong drink would do his building headache some good. Fortescue grinned, rummaging around the shelves while Harry refocused his attention to his surroundings. 

_The clinking of bottles. Laughter. Coins rattling. The slight breeze from the window that kissed Harry’s exposed palms softly. The rough wood under his calloused digits. The cloth of his hood brushing his cheek. The smell of bread, ale and cooked meat, the air dry but not too warm._

_“D’ya think you can handle a round of cards with me?”_

_“You’re on. What shall the stakes be?”_

“Sorry about, you know, them.” Fortescue looked at him apologetically. Harry shook his head.

“It’s alright, I wasn’t exactly expecting a welcoming party.”

_“Last I’ve heard ‘boutta witcher was back in Gryffindor, and rumor has it that his contract was with none other than Albus Dumbledore himself!”_

_A quiet gasp. “Even people as powerful as Lord Dumbledore send for those?” Interesting accent, similar to one born and raised in Ravenclaw._

_“Theys not human, ya see, a diff’rent breed altogether. Mutated theirs own bodies over and over ‘till they don’t look normal, ‘till their strength don’t look normal no more. Lord Dumbledore’s human body don’t last as long as a witcher’s, no ma’er how powerful.”_

_“Aye, they go to Godric’s Hollow and build up muscle and immunities to things that could normally kill anyone, but in exchange, their hearts are drained from humanity. Callous people, they are, who believe in coin more than integrity and righteousness—”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous, Terry. It’s only ‘cuz of that witcher that the refugee camp was taken back from those monstrous Acromantula.”_

_“You mean the Boy-Who-Lived, the one with the lightning scar? He practically dropped from the face of the earth after that bit, honey.”_

Fortescue slid a glass across the table. “Here you go, Harry. Drink responsibly now,” he teased as Harry snatched it up and downed it one go. 

He slammed the glass down on the counter, licking his lips. “I’m a witcher, this kind of stuff’s nothing to me.” Harry grinned dismissively. “Say, know where I can find some work around here?”

“There’s always work for you lot,” Fortescue waved his hand. “Other than taking a look at the notice board beside the signpost, you can probably try approaching the hunter Rosier. He’s been complaining about an abundance of snakes in the forest. His hut’s in the outskirts, naturally.”

_“He don’t look like no witcher. He’s a rather small thing, don’t you think?” A woman’s voice, hushed and generally inaudible. Generally._

_“He’s got to be one. He’s got scars ‘round his face and from what I know, all of ‘em have at least two swords. Most people dunno it, but they’ve got a silver sword to slay monsters with and a steel sword to deal with, y’know, humans,_ us.”

_“He’s right, he’s definitely one. No other has creepy eyes like theirs, like a cat’s.”_

“Much appreciated, Fortescue.” Harry tipped his empty glass to Fortescue in thanks, but the man only rolled his eyes and refilled Harry’s cup. 

“The least I can do is point you in the right direction and serve you drink like I would any other customer. I still haven’t forgotten the thieves you helped me get rid of.” 

“I don’t remember doing that.”

“It doesn’t matter if you remember it or not, ‘cuz I told you about what you did anyway. You not remembering doesn’t change the fact that you actually saved my arse back then.”

Harry shrugged. “It was no contract, sure, but there was a little bit of coin involved so you don’t really owe me anything. Also, who the hell would pass up an opportunity to earn a bit of side money?”

“I paid you thirty sickles, son.” 

Harry shrugged again. Fortescue sighed. “Is business doing fine all the way over here?” Harry asked instead. 

“‘Course, business is always booming at The Crossroads. People passing by the bridge, merchants in and out of the place, soldiers looking for a drink. Folk says I should move to the city nearer to the very heart of Hogwarts, in the city of the King’s Dome, they mean, but I like it here.” Fortescue sat down in his own seat and picked up a cloth to continue wiping the glasses. “Never was suited for all that noise and for more layers of cloth than one could bear in the summer.”

“I can sympathize with that,” Harry said, thinking of some of his more chaotic visits to the walled cities. “Their food is so goddamn expensive, too, and not even half as filling as yours.” The innkeeper barked out a laugh. 

“A real charmer, you are.” Harry doubted that very much. The general populace doubted that doubly much. Fortescue was hilarious. “Food at the Hufflepuff District is always first class, though, no matter the city or the town. You eat there often?”

“I don’t actually, work tends to pull me in Gryffindor and Slytherin more. But the cities at Hufflepuff are friendlier and livelier, seems a lot safer there. If you ever do move, not saying you will, Hufflepuff is a good place to go to.”

_“Did’ya hear? They say Lord Fudge’s Aurors are crossing the bridge this week.”_

_“I heard they were arriving two mornings from now. Gotta tell my children to stay outta their way. War’s an ugly business, especially when it’s between people like Lord Fudge and Lord Dumbledore.”_

Harry noted that down in his head. He didn’t want to run into any sort of trouble in a small village like this, and would most probably have to leave with or without work before the Aurors showed up.

“I’ll keep that in mind, the wife may like the idea of moving to Hufflepuff.” he said thoughtfully, but Harry could tell from the man’s voice that she was probably more interested in the safety of Hufflepuff than the idea of moving. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and instead pulled out two knuts. 

“Thanks for the drink, Fortescue, I’ll be sure to stop by before leaving the village.” 

_Hooves on gravel. The neighs of two or more horses. The chink of medium armor and steel swords._

“May the gods be with you, Harry.” Fortescue smiled. Just as Harry stood up to leave, the door was thrown carelessly open. 

He didn’t need his enhanced senses to know that the four men jeering at each other spelled out unnecessary trouble. A second glance, though, and Harry learned that they had just come back from whatever it was that troublemakers do and had visited the tavern to celebrate. 

_The smell of the earth lingering in their leather and iron armor, as well as the smell of fire. Blood was wiped clean off their blades. One had hair that was slightly singed, and their swords were slung carelessly over their hips. Made of iron._

“Innkeep! We’ll have a round o’ ale each—” the brutish mercenary who spoke blinked upon catching sight of Harry. He sneered. “What are the rotten likes of you doing here?”

Harry eyed them, coming to the conclusion that they wouldn’t be willing to wreak havoc without him in the picture. Well shit, Harry should’ve left as soon as he had heard them. “I was just leaving,” Harry replied curtly, walking towards the door and intending to brush past the group. A second man dressed in lighter armor smoothly stepped out from behind his companion to block Harry’s path.

 _The smell of wolf hide and ash._ No, not mercenaries. Bandits, Harry realized. Less professional, more feral and impulsive.

“Can you move a bit? You’re making leaving a little difficult,” Harry remarked dryly, crossing his arms and leaning on one leg. He could easily take them, ‘course, but he wasn’t looking for a fight. At least, not now.

“My companion asked a question.” Presumptuous twat. 

“Do you not have eyes? It’s a bloody tavern, what did you think I was doing here, snogging Hippogriffs or getting hitched, maybe?” Harry irritatedly snapped, although his voice remained steady. 

“Ye betta’ watch yer mouth, ya filthy wretcher!” growled Bandit Number Three. He was missing a few of his teeth and was even brawnier than Bandit Number One. Wretcher, a common insult that dimwitted people thought was fucking arithmancy just because it sounded like “witcher”. Whoever thought of it was probably some sort of full-bellied, oily-haired and nasty smelling twat that didn’t know the difference between garlic and an onion. Harry bet his right boot that Bandit Number Three was the stupidest of the lot. 

“Relax, I don’t want a fight.” Harry put out his hands in a placating gesture, although he didn’t quite have the energy to muster a smile that was anything less than mocking. “Just move and I’ll be on my merry way, yeah? Sound peachy to you?”

“On the contrary, I think I have to reject your offer.” Jeez, Harry was no stranger to the highs of winning a battle or a contract gone well, but even if it wasn’t exactly common knowledge that he was the Boy-Who-Lived, did they seriously think that they could take a witcher? The four of them? Bandit Number Two smirked, reaching for his sword. “The world is going to thank us for exterminating filth like you.”

Pity that Harry couldn’t just simply meddle with all four of their minds with good ol’ Axii. Or kill them with his steel sword, for that matter. 

He blasted all four of them through the door and out of the tavern with a simple Aard sign. Collective gasps rang around the inn, but Harry wasn’t entirely concerned. Even if he did a full pivot and gifted the bandits honey and flowers, he would still end up villainized by these villagefolk for sure. 

“I’ll see you later, Fortescue,” Harry waved before making his way to quickly exit the tavern.

“Wait! Harry!” 

He turned around, meeting Fortescue’s concerned, hopeful gaze. Harry felt his heart sink, knowing what he was going to ask already. 

“Have you… have you gotten your—d-do you still not remember me?” Fortescue, the usually eloquent innkeep with all of his proclaimed love for poetry and song, stammered unsurely. Harry sighed deeply and returned Fortescue’s worried smile with what he hoped was a reassuring grin, shaking his head in response.

“I don’t, but I can see why I liked you so much.” He drew the Yrden sign to slow the movement of the bandits sprawled on top of each other on the grass, before hurriedly mounting his tall horse. He threw one last glance at the older man, leaning against his counter and wiping glasses before the inn door was swung shut. 

“If I catch you four raising a hand against anyone, I won’t be as merciful,” Harry promised to the four who were still sluggishly trying to escape his magical trap. “Giddyup, Hedwig!” Hedwig whinnied in response, lifting her hooves before cantering away from the hollering yet magically slowed bandits. 

_They’re a bunch of idiots, sure,_ Harry gripped Hedwig’s bridle tighter and tugged, signaling her to slow down a bit after they’ve gone a good distance from Fortescue’s. _But I’m not really in the mood for stabbing people today._

He arrived at the edge of the village in a mere three minutes, the sun warm against his back. “Woah there, Hedwig!” he pulled on her bridle and patted her long neck gently. He waited for her to stop, dismounting in a single fluid motion and landing with his knees bent. “Oof. Thanks girl,” he cooed, petting her ash-gray mane and chuckling as she butted her head closer to his palm. 

Children were playing near the bridge, chasing each other and belting out their rhymes. A woman with a basket full of vegetables was trading with a bearded merchant whose wares were displayed on a blanket proudly. He could hear the clanking of stone against an anvil, the telltale sound of a blacksmith or an armorer nearby. It was less crowded here, which Harry could appreciate after butting heads with bandits not worth his time. 

“You… are you a witcher?”

Harry turned to face a man with tanned skin and dark brown hair. His boots were made of animal hide and his apparel light and easy to move in. A quiver of arrows was slung over his back, but he wasn’t holding a matching bow. Harry didn’t fail to spot the different knives over his body, though, and took note of his lean and lithe body structure. Narrowing his eyes, he could also observe the wounds and calluses on the man’s hands. 

_Accent from the Slytherin outskirts. Cuts and scars from sharp metal, teeth, perhaps bone. A hunter more comfortable using blades than arrows,_ Harry concluded. _Hands equally calloused, he has no favored hand in hunting. His feet are light and his fingers look quick, so perhaps his aim isn’t as good. Is this Rosier? Likes to sneak up on one target and deliver one quick, finishing blow, no wonder he can’t deal with serpents._

“Yeah,” Harry caught the smallest of frowns in response, but he let it slide because the man didn’t look like he was gonna try and poke fun at Harry’s appearance. It was just a curious frown. ”Are you Rosier? Fortescue at the tavern mentioned that you have a bit of a snake problem.” At the mention of the snakes, he scowled. 

“Yeah, the name be Rosier, and damn right you are I’ve gotta snake problem,” he groaned. “It would be a mercy from the gods if I had someone to help me get rid of ‘em, but I…” he trailed off, furrowing his eyebrows. Harry waited patiently. “I don’t think I can p-pay for your services… right now.” The poor man looked like he was struggling with what to say.

Harry understood immediately. 

Rosier wasn’t wealthy enough to employ him, but if he didn’t go into the forest, then he’d end up unable to afford anything at all.

Harry wasn’t even surprised when the man bit his lip and squared his shoulders, looking him in the eye. “Witcher, I can only spare fif-no, _twenty_ sickles, but if yous be willing to help me ward off those damnable snakes in the forest, I can promise free lodging whenever yous will be coming to The Crossroads, and if it ain’t enough, I could always—”

“Accepted.” Harry cut him off, not daring to smile at the other man’s dumbstruck expression but allowing himself a confident smirk. “Whenever you’re ready.”

* * *

Harry’s confidence had backfired in the funniest way possible. 

Rosier was not too subtle in his disbelief at Harry’s witcher status, wordlessly insisting he stay in front of Harry. He was torn between feeling touched that the man worried for him, amused at his cluelessness and irritated that he didn’t even try to hide the fact that he didn’t think much of him. He settled for something in between, keeping his ears wide open for the slightest of hisses or slithering in the leaves. 

“Have you managed to catch a glimpse of these snakes?” Harry asked lightly, snapping Rosier from his tense focus. “Any distinguishable features?”

“I recognized a few adders, yeah, but theys were acting funny.” 

What? “Eh?” Harry prompted unintelligently, not understanding at first. 

“Like theys, ah, they were restless and they were just faster than usual, ya see? They were coiling about, and my entire being was screaming at me to get the hell out.” Rosier explained, ducking under a low branch. “There was also this giant, long as hell brown snake, but despi’e its massive size, the snake was also having the jitters. I felt like they were ‘boutta kill me on sight.”

“They don’t sound magical, but they might have been put under some sort of spell or influence. It’s quite strange that there are clusters of them in just one part of the forest.” Harry commented, focusing on the sounds that he could make out.

_The wind rustling the leaves and shaking the branches. Rabbits and hares hopping around and stepping on the brambles on the ground. Small stones shifting, the dirt crunched underneath his feet._

“Have you got family, by the way?” Harry asked nonchalantly, giving nothing away as he stepped over a twig that was practically begging to make noise.

“Yeah, I’ve got me son, but the wife passed a long time ago in labor.” Rosier murmured and faltered in his steps, looking down at the ground with an expression Harry couldn’t see from behind. “It was a few years after the Blizzard, not much anyone could’a done for her illness back then. I thank my lucky sta’s that our lil’ Evan can’t remember what he could have ‘ad.” 

“Has it been hard?”

“Every single second o’ the day without me love is harder than the last,” Rosier sped up his pace. Harry could hear the wind disturbing a lake nearby, water sloshing in the distance. “But by Circe’s mercy, at least it don’t hurt as much anymore. Whether we have food on the table or nay depends on how good of a hunter I am, and while most days it’s enough, the winters are a struggle to last through. The fact that it reminds me of the Blizzard and the mother, that don’t help either.”

Harry nodded, already making his decision with Rosier none the wiser. “How many days has it been already, since the snakes appeared, I mean?”

“It’s been about three sunsets since then,” Rosier gruffed. He led Harry past the thick curtain of leaves that were bigger than the both of them and into a vast clearing. Harry spotted a crystalline lake, gloriously shimmering with the sunlight reflected in its topaz blue waters. “I spotted the brown snake here, and the adders nearly bit me in the place we walked past.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Why in the seven hells would a large snake like that be in the middle of a—”

_The rippling of the water. An almost inaudible bubbling._

Harry grabbed Rosier by the back of his armor, snagging a bit of his quiver while he was at it, and roughly spun him around, effectively rotating them and switching their positions. Rosier staggered behind him in surprise just as Harry unsheathed his steel sword out of his baldric and slashed it through the boa constrictor’s neck. 

In a matter of seconds, the serpent that had rapidly charged from the waters was dead. Its decapitated head fell to the ground, its forked tongue peeking out of its open mouth. 

“Hmm, a boa constrictor,” Harry informed Rosier, who was gaping at the heavy-bodied creature like it was going to regenerate and sink its fangs into their ankles when they weren’t looking. Actually, not half-bad of him to think so. Better safe than sorry. “Makes sense now why it would be in the middle of the clearing if there was a lake in it.”

“Y-you were so goddamned fast!” Rosier went slack-jawed, eyes wide with astonishment. “Bloody hell, witchers really are on a different level!”

“Well, it would be quite disappointing if we ended up totally human, even after all the mutations that we put ourselves through,” Harry remarked wryly, crouching to examine the remains of the boa constrictor. Upon further inspection, he noticed that its tongue was singed, an unfamiliar rune painfully inscribed on it. “Well, well, it looks like somebody’s been experimenting with magic.”

“Wha’ you mean by that?”

“I’m not entirely familiar with the different magics, but this is more likely the work of a warlock. There’s some sort of rune embedded on the snake’s tongue, but I’m not sure what it does.” Harry slid his dagger out of its scabbard, slicing the soft muscle and earning a disgusted curse from Rosier. He snickered in amusement. “Boa constrictors are naturally non-venomous, but if you look here, its pupils are elliptical. This rune’s doing, I suppose.”

“Oh fuck, I would’a died right there and then,” shivered Rosier, looking like he was gonna be sick from the mere idea. Harry shrugged. 

“Thank Circe, you didn’t then, eh?” Harry barked out a laugh as Rosier leveled him with an indignant glare. “C’mon, we still have to search the rest of the forest for those adders.” Harry then took the lead, slowly approaching the thicket of trees again and allowing Rosier to catch up.

“Adders. Right. So, wes gon’ pretend nothin’ outta the ordinary happened o’er there?” Rosier huffed, but jogged to walk beside Harry. 

“Well, not really,” Harry thoughtfully looked up at the sky, ears open for the slightest echoes of a hiss. “I’m curious about the rune and the person who drew it, what their intention was and all. It’s magic that’s odd at best and dark at worst. Know anyone in town that can give me a hand?” 

Rosier sighed, looking as if he still wanted to talk about his near-death experience no matter how uncomfortable, but finally shook his head. “Not anyone in town, no, not after the Blizzard nineteen winters ago. But people talk of a magical genius who lives in Slytherin by his lonesome, and everyone who knows of ‘im calls him Voldemort.”

“Vol-de-mort,” Harry muttered, testing the unfamiliar strung-up letters on his tongue and briefly wondering how it was written. “He specialize in anything?”

“Nay, not anything. But _everything,_ ” Rosier shook his head slightly, as if he couldn’t believe his own words. “Rumored to be more powerful than Grindelwald himself, and he only started in the College after the Blizzard, too!” _Uh, what the fuck._ “I’ve got not much thoughts on magic as I’ve only got the word o’ others, but they say it's damn near godlike to get a grip on magic that fast.”

“Yeah, it is,” Harry murmured slowly, taking note of this new, possibly dangerous Voldemort fellow. It was highly unlikely that Harry would end up approaching him, though, he’d most probably end up turning to his more familiar sources. But gods above, _fucking hell_. Harry had only studied his witcher signs, but even he knew how it took a decade _at least_ for people to fully master just a single branch of magic. Now comes along a guy with knowledge and powers rivaling that of a bloody Dark Lord, and he had the gall to just be better than everyone in less than twenty years?

And they say that _Harry_ was the inhuman one, Harry complained in his head, but trudged on to finish the contract.

Slaying the boa constrictor was the easy part, finding the nest of adders was a bit trickier. Maybe the adders had sensed that Harry was trouble or something, because none of them dared to approach Rosier this time around, or him for that matter. Maybe they detected the smell of snake blood on Harry’s blade, but whatever the reason, no adder was as eager to appear in front of them and get acquainted with their ankles like how Rosier described. The two spent the remaining two hours before sunset searching for the nest, before they found it by accident. 

And thank Merlin and his ancestors that Rosier was both perceptive like a hunter and talkative like a massive pain in the arse, because it was only through his offhand comment on the weird shape of the brambles on the ground that Harry noticed the snake nest hidden beneath a thick, drooping branch. 

Finding it was the hardest part, but getting rid of it though, now that was undeniably the easiest bit of them all. 

He snapped his fingers, lighting the small and unassuming nest on fire with Igni, one of his most dangerous signs when cast uncontrollably. 

And almost very predictably, a few particularly venomous snakes lunged at him right then and there from all sides. He cast a variation of Igni, burning every snake in his radius before stabbing his sword right through the ones who weren’t charred on contact. 

“Problem solved. Unless there’s another nest nearby—highly unlikely mind you, I think you’re good for now.” Harry mock bowed as Rosier let out a sharp whistle of appreciation and clapped with a goofy grin on his face.

“Great thanks to thee, Witcher. I admit, I was a wee bit skeptical at first, it be me first time hiring summa to help do me job!” Rosier stepped towards him, bringing out a tiny, thin pouch. “Here’s your twenty sickles as promised, but Merlin knows that you’ve also got my appreciation and more whenever ya need.”

Harry gave the giddy man a small smile. “Thanks, Rosier, but I’d like you to keep the money. Raise your kid well, yeah?”

“Wha’? B-but, ‘tis ain’t even much, and I know your kind dun work for free!” Rosier scrambled, trying to shove the pouch into Harry’s chest unsuccessfully, but Harry knew that it wasn’t because Rosier was excited to part with his hard-earned cash. He had to think about his little tyke, after all. 

Rosier fluttered around him uselessly with his pouch, looking like his whole world was crumbling right in front of him. Well, maybe his perception of the world was already on its way to ruin. “Yeah, no, not gonna take that. However, I hope you don’t mind me taking you up on your other offers?” Harry wouldn’t mind staying at Rosier’s rent-free whenever he needed to go back and forth between the four domains of Hogwarts. Rosier nodded, still as bewildered as ever. 

“And they say witchers don’t have hearts.” Rosier breathed, before bowing his head in thanks. “What’s your name, kind sir?”

“Oh, just call me Harry,” Harry shuffled his feet awkwardly, unsure of how to react to Rosier’s gratitude and enthusiasm.

“Well, Harry, here’s a token of my appreciation ‘stead! I’ve got no use for it, and local pawner says it ain’t worth much. But I hope that you can find uses for this one!” Rosier brandished a locket that Harry hadn’t noticed earlier from under his clothes. “I’s be hoping it sells for a few sickles, maybe a full galleon out there somewhere!” 

“My thanks, Rosier,” Harry accepted the gift graciously, tucking it in his pocket. “Well, I best be off. Take care, now.”

Rosier shook his head in wonder. He did that a lot today, Harry thought wryly. “And they say witchers don’t have hearts,” he repeated. “Safe travels, Witcher Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guide to Witcher Signs:  
> 1\. Igni - like a flamethrower  
> 2\. Quen - increases defense/protects the person  
> 3\. Axii - hypnosis, makes people calm/easily manipulated  
> 4\. Aard - telekinetic blast, like a flippendo  
> 5\. Yrden - slows enemies down, a magical trap
> 
> Guide to Magic-Wielders: (this isn't from The Witcher)  
> 1\. Mage - you get your magic from within, like magic from Harry Potter  
> 2\. Sorcerer - you get your magic from the world, like how magic works in The Witcher  
> 3\. Warlock - you get your magic from some greater being  
> 4\. Wizard/Witch - another term for magic-wielder 
> 
> Hello, I hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter and I hope that everyone is doing well! I'll be updating the story 1-3 times per month :> I've got a lot written down already, this story is a lot of fun to write! I hope to hear from you guys if you all have any comments or suggestions or questions or whatever HAHAHA 
> 
> By the way, you don't actually have to read the little guides that I leave scattered around this fic, because I love, love, LOVE worldbuilding and I actually explain everything c: Like, in the end HAHAHA If it gets a bit confusing though, I'll explain a bit more in the notes when asked! 
> 
> I realized that Geralt and Harry actually have a lot more similarities like if you watch Witcher or play the games or read the books you'll know what I mean. They both got amnesia, both don't really wanna kill sentient beings, both have humor drier than the desert and they both end up with an ambitious, power-hungry sorceress/mage. I think this fusion was meant to be HAHAHAHA
> 
> I'm also having a lot of fun creating the other characters? But even in my series I had loads of fun exploring the whole cast, not just Tom and Harry hehe. I hope you had as much fun as I did when writing! Please stay safe now!


	3. Act II: Reenacting - Scene II

The noticeboard was full of the typical bullshit that Harry had no problem ignoring. Propaganda for inter-domain unity, propaganda for inter-domain discord, a famous bard coming to sing at Fortescue’s tavern next week, and a cheery little notice demanding service, grain or coin from each family living in The Crossroads. Lovely. 

Harry sighed, half-wondering if he should just suck it up and make the really, really long trip back to Godric’s Hollow, the old keep where witchers were trained. He badly needed a rest from the varying levels of stupidity he had to see and listen to on the daily, and if he was going to be honest, he was just about ready to give up half of his coin for the more stimulating contracts and assignments. Sure, witchers loved coin and all but they generally didn’t fare well if they were left to feel dreadfully bored. 

_ “Did you hear about the Death Eaters’ latest raid? Nearly set the Diagon Square in Hufflepuff on fire!” _

_ “Damn those chaotic, magic-wielding freaks, they’re just the same as that fucking Grindelwald.” _

_ “Lord Fudge’s got it right, no magic users should be allowed any near Hogwarts, nor the King’s Dome for that matter!” _

_ “Well, what about Dumbledore? He’s an awfully competent ruler for a wizard.” _

_ “He’s still a wizard, he’s got no business at the Dome.”  _

_ “The Aurors under Lord Fudge will attack The Crossroads soon, I believe, but he’s hardly gentle. What will become of us, then? _

_ Well, the war between Lord Dumbledore, Lord Fudge and the rebel Death Eaters was bound to worsen, _ Harry grimaced as he sifted through another notice of enlistment.  _ Oh, what do we have here?  _

Behind all the rather useless pieces of paper tacked to the board, there was a heavy piece of parchment with an official-looking wax seal keeping the whole thing half-closed. Harry squinted, going cross-eyed trying to make out the heading that was written in lettering fancier than a noblewoman's wedding dress. 

**DELIVERY JOB**

**An important delivery must be made from one end of the Slytherin District to the other. The job requires strength and finesse, as the package is more fragile than glass yet more expensive than any diamond in the realm. To those interested, visit The Apothecary in Spinner’s End. Fair compensation will be given, depending entirely on how well the task is executed.**

**A clear warning to those who seek the reward: any damages to the package and the courier must pay far more than what their own life is worth.**

Harry hadn’t even done anything yet but threats have already been made on his life? Count him  _ in _ .

After his promised second visit to Fortescue’s the next day, Harry set off on the beaten path. He and Hedwig arrived at Slytherin around half past noon, with his stomach empty and demanding food. Harry tried to ignore his hunger the whole trip, but couldn’t help but wish he had packed a loaf of bread with him.

“Halt! Who goes there?” the Slytherin gatekeeper hollered. Harry gave him a mock salute, his griffin medallion starting to thrum beside his heart as it picked up on the magic behind the gates.

“A witcher on the job. Let me in, will you? Need to work for someone at The Apothecary!” he shouted back. The man behind the gatekeeper squinted at him and jumped, startled at something that he saw. He hurriedly whispered something in the gatekeeper’s ears, eyes straying over to where Hedwig was pawing at the cobblestone with her hoof. 

The gatekeeper’s eyes widened. “R-right, well, no dawdlin’, ye rookies, open the gates!” he barked at the Slytherin soldiers standing guard, looking a little flustered. Harry fought off his smug smile, trying to maintain his look of disinterest.

For a district that was well known for its strict walls, Harry certainly had no trouble passing through whenever needed. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

_ Well, I guess that’s just a perk of being a witcher: people don’t fuck with you, _ Harry patted his boot on Hedwig’s side, guiding her through the tall, sturdy gates of the Center of Magic, the Slytherin Domain.

He was immediately assaulted by a barrage of colors, voices and smells, all alive with magic. 

“Magical lockets to surprise the paramour?”

“Limited stocks for eternally warm Acromantula silk gloves!”

“Come one, come all! Gilderoy Lockhart, a devilishly handsome magician all the way from the outskirts of Ravenclaw, is to perform an Illusion Act this week at the Greengrass Theatre!”

“By all things holy, Pansy dear, that crystal ball is cracked right in the middle. Why on earth haven’t you found a replacement yet?”

“I’ve got very important things to do, I have no time to run an errand any house-elf could.” 

Even if Hufflepuff was known to be the Center of Life, Harry personally thought that it still couldn’t hold a candle to the vitality and wonders of Spinner’s End.

Magic wielders all over Hogwarts spent long periods of time in Slytherin to do research or mingle with like-minded folk. It was only here where magic could be practiced freely, where wizards and witches weren’t persecuted for no reason and where herbalists and healers could be praised for their work. Harry wasn’t blind to the underlying darkness of some of the more sinister parts of Slytherin, but Spinner’s End, one of the handful of cities that welcomed outsiders with open arms, had a certain charm that not even Lord Fudge could deny. Even if Harry wasn’t familiar with The Apothecary, he had come by Spinner’s End a lot for some of his contracts, as well as the occasional magical upgrade to his gear.

And it was just as Harry remembered it. The small city was splashed with the bright hues of polychromatic spells and uniquely colored potions, painted in the deep purples of joke shop walls and the lush reds of magical bookshops. People wore what they wanted, unafraid to don sunny yellow cloaks or the more conventional black scarves; Harry could even spot a man wearing boots made of silver. He was careful to guide Hedwig through the throng of people gathered around the particularly persuasive vendors, yanking Hedwig back when she almost trampled down a blonde child. 

“Whoa, sorry there, kid, didn’t mean to scare you.” Harry apologized when the kid screamed and jumped back, throwing his arms over his face a little belatedly.

The kid flushed a light pink, aggressively crossing his arms and glaring at the white horse through his soft platinum bangs. Hedwig neighed in response, amusedly tilting her head and staring back at the kid straight on. 

“You need to watch where you’re going, you, you—” Merlin, was the kid trying to talk to his horse? Those big, angry grey eyes were adorable. This kid throwing a tantrum was adorable, Hedwig could practically eat him up. Harry cooed in his head at the raging little thing, watching the squirt try to come up with an intelligent insult. Hedwig snorted, provoking the boy’s ire even further by turning away from him in disinterest. 

“Hey, you pony! I’m still talking to you here!” This kid was first-class entertainment. Harry’s mirth ebbed away a little when those childish grey eyes focused on him instead. Recognition spread across his face, and for a moment Harry worried that the boy had met him before.

Before he lost his memories.

It had been three years since Harry woke up in the Forbidden Forest, with no recollection of how he got there. He had no memory of his time at Godric’s Hollow, he had no memory of his childhood or his family, he had no memory of what he was doing on The Path, a term referring to how witchers travel across the world in search of odd jobs and contracts. Hell, at that time, he even struggled to remember his name. All that he knew for sure was that he was a witcher, and something had probably gone wrong in one of his contracts.

Probably. Again, Harry barely knew his own name, and the one thing he did know for certain was that he was a monster slayer for hire. He wasn’t exactly sure why his body wasn’t as big and muscley as it should have been, but he didn’t particularly care after finding out that despite his looks, he had no problem matching up to the legendary strength of his fellow mutants. 

With nothing else to do, he continued on The Path, seeking adventure to try and rediscover the world and to look for a solid direction in life. He met a lot of people like Fortescue who claimed to know him, but Harry was still frustratingly far from piecing together his past. 

He wasn’t excited about having to explain to a kid all of  _ that,  _ nor was he thrilled to see the same crestfallen look he had seen on Hermione when he confessed that he didn’t know her, but thankfully, he didn’t have to. 

“Are you a witcher? Are you here to see Uncle Sev?” The blonde boy stepped closer, eyes now pooling with excitement. “Uncle Sev has been waiting for someone to deliver his new potion for ages. He’s been awfully snippy about it, says it’s something real important.”

That was interesting and very promising, it was most likely the same demanding Slytherin that had the notice put up. “Yeah, I’m a witcher,” he said slowly, unsure if the kid was going to give him shit for being one like the rest of the world did. But his fears turned out to be unfounded, as the kid’s amazed look didn’t waver a single bit.  _ Ah, still too young to be tainted by the prejudice of the world,  _ Harry sighed in his head. “Do you think you can lead me to your… Uncle Sev? I saw the notice that he put up, thought that maybe I could help deliver it for him.” Harry gave the blonde boy what he hoped was a friendly smile.

“Only if you let me ride on your demon pony.” Geez, Harry almost forgot how most of the local Slytherins were as snotty as they were wealthy. Harry couldn’t hold back his own snort of amusement, worryingly imitating Hedwig really well. 

“Circe above, you’re quite the handful. Well, it’ll be faster, anyway.” The boy dressed in fine robes raised his arms impatiently. Harry smirked, pressing a scarred hand to his chest and bowing his head. “Your wish is my command, great sir. Come here,” Harry gently pulled the child to sit in front of him, smiling softly as he giggled. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Draco,” the boy replied before harshly pressing his boot against Hedwig’s side. “Move, horse! Move!” The horse grunted in distaste, and before Hedwig got the brilliant idea to throw not just Draco but both of them off of her, Harry flicked Draco’s forehead and ignored his affronted glare. 

“H-how dare you do that to me, you lowly commoner! I will make sure that my father will hear about this.” he promised darkly. Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow. This kid was fucking crazy.

“Be nice to Hedwig, she’s letting you ride on your back even though you kicked her.” Harry said sternly. Draco wasn’t the first brat he had to deal with in the past three years, but dear Merlin, he was by far the  _ brattiest.  _ It was almost funny, if Draco wasn’t capable of annoying Hedwig to kingdom come. All hell would break loose the minute his beautiful horse lost her temper.

He sniffed. “Horses are meant to take people around.”

“Horses are creatures perfectly capable of running you over. They can kill you with no weapon if they so wish.” Harry pointed out, tapping Hedwig’s side softly and encouraging her to go forward. Hedwig grudgingly followed his silent request. “Hedwig is my friend and my traveling partner. We take  _ each other _ around, Hedwig gives me speed and I give her direction, isn’t that right, girl?” Hedwig made an intelligent sort of noise in her throat, trotting a lot more cooperatively down the street. 

“I suppose…” Draco still didn’t look that convinced, but he was now sporting a look of uncertainty. Harry considered that a win. 

“Do you want to try traveling with Hedwig? You know the directions to The Apothecary, right?” At Draco’s hesitant nod, he continued, “Well, then I’m sure you of all people can get Hedwig and I there.” 

Draco predictably puffed his chest out, blooming at his words of confidence. “Of course I can.” he said haughtily, leaning forward. “Take a right over there and go straight.” Harry subtly steered Hedwig to follow his instructions, noting with a pleased expression that Draco was rubbing her ash-gray mane with more gentleness and admiration than before. 

Draco was an arrogant lad, yes, but he was also quite the sharp one. Under his surprisingly detailed directions and with a spell that erected a transparent shield between them and the crowd, they arrived at the right place within a few minutes.

“How come you didn’t place a shield yourself? You wouldn’t have had to worry about the pony stepping over anyone.” Draco asked in genuine curiosity, turning his head back as they slowed down in front of a signpost. 

“Oh, I haven’t got a single magical bone in my body,” Harry said dismissively, peering at the building Draco had pointed at. It was an elegant establishment, its walls made of brick painted in black and white. 

“That can’t be right. Everyone knows that witchers use finger gestures to do magic when they fight. Like how they use Igni a lot, applying the basics of pyrokinesis, Aard, for a simple telekinetic blast and Axii for hypnosis. It has to be true, my father taught me that.” 

“Not exactly,” Harry dismounted off of Hedwig before gripping Draco’s sides firmly and lowering him safely onto the ground. “Witchers can only draw signs because of the potions they took in their training. It’s… unnatural.” Harry intentionally omitted the fact that it was more of an outright affront to nature than it was unnatural, and that many didn’t actually survive past that particular mutation. 

“So you can’t cast a shield like I can?” Draco waved his hand, the transparent shield turning translucent before flickering out of the air. Impressive for a kid, even from the Slytherin Domain. “What else can you do?”

“Well, we have the Yrden sign, a sort of magical trap stemming from the principles of ancient runes,” Harry explained as Draco tugged on his sleeve, rushing to the polished doors of The Apothecary. “Quen is probably the closest I can get to a shield like yours, but it only casts a protective ward around my body. Those five signs are all the magic that I’ll ever be willing to experiment with.” 

“Not even potions?” Draco peered up at him. “But Uncle Sev makes pretty useful ones.”

“Oh, my body can handle those, can handle potions with toxicity levels dangerous to normal humans even,” Harry nodded. “I can even make some, since they can be pretty useful for faster healing and shi— _ things _ .” Draco shot him a disapproving look. 

“Father says swearing is uncouth.” Harry, smothering his laughter, sent him an apologetic look. Draco harrumphed, before sliding in the shop and pulling Harry in with him. 

The shop was clean and organized, but surprisingly very busy. There were at least six different cauldrons of different material stirring themselves in their own isolated areas, each with a distinct smell that warred with the woody scent of the room and with a different neon color bubbling inside. Scrolls whizzed past Harry’s ear, opening by themselves and shooting back to their proper places. Two brooms were cleaning the opposite ends of the workplace, and was that a black washcloth wiping the windows by itself?

The ceiling was glass, Harry observed in quiet awe, the sunlight warming up the interior pretty nicely. Charmed to be bigger on the inside, the shop had impressively tall bookshelves going up past three landings and all the way to the ceiling. 

“This shop looks straight out of Flourish and Blotts,” Harry muttered.

“Uncle Sev is really smart and his work is very important. Of course he would have a lot of books,” Draco remarked with his snobbishly high voice, although it was obvious that he cherished the older man that he was so excessively proud of. What a cutie. “Come, Uncle Sev is most probably in his office at the topmost landing.”

Harry followed the little devil up the grand spiral staircase that hugged the bookcases, allowing the shop owner easy access to most books without magic. 

“What’s your Uncle Sev like?” Harry nonchalantly inquired, running a hand through some of the more interesting looking covers. 

“He’s one of Father’s most trusted advisors, and is a successful alchemist who has also mastered herbology and healing.” Draco stuck his chin out, a spark of pride in his grey eyes. It was quite endearing, even on the stuffy kid’s face. “While Father’s away on business, I stay here with him as his apprentice.”

“Apprentice, huh? Good on you for starting so young.” 

“Uncle Sev says so too. Says that I’m more than ready to go to Ravenclaw and study at the College of Magic, but it’s far too risky for me to be there, what with the war and all.”

While the war wasn’t very dangerous yet, Harry could see where Draco’s guardians were coming from. Lord Fudge has gained a lot of support from the masses, a greater portion of them being non-magical. People were being executed for no reason, at the pretense of his soldiers actually  _ doing something  _ other than standing around the city gates. 

The uppermost landing didn’t have a door or anything, it automatically led to an office right under the glass ceiling. There were still a handful of books propped open, the man who worked here apparently had the need for four tables.  _ Four.  _ There were racks of half-filled vials scattered around the floor and on the shelves, and there was an enormous map of Hogwarts covering one whole wall. 

“And who might you be?” a silky, quiet voice spoke. Harry tore his gaze away from the impressive collection of books to meet cold obsidian. 

Which, by the way, didn’t stay cold for long. The man’s eyes widened, shock coloring his pale skin into an even more pallid shade as he took a step back. His chin-length black hair fell across his face, his colorless lips falling open. 

Now, wasn’t that a particularly encouraging sign of friendliness?

“This is a witcher, Uncle Sev, says he’s come here to talk to you about the delivery.” Draco introduced as Harry wracked his brain, trying to figure out why this herbalist and/or alchemist had such an intense reaction to Harry’s presence. Expectedly coming out with a blank, Harry forced a smile on his face.

“Nice to meet you. I’m, er, I’m Harry.” he awkwardly shuffled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, have we met before?”

“We… we have not.”  _ So that impressively dramatic reaction, what the fuck was that for then?  _ The man dressed in all black seemed to recover quickly enough, his back straightening as he stuck out his hand for Harry to shake. “My apologies, you looked similar to someone I once knew, from the past. My name is Severus Snape.”

“Nice to meet you?” Harry parrotted his previous words ineloquently, flushing when the taller man raised a condescending eyebrow. He shook Harry’s hand, nearly crushing it, before he swiftly turned around and rummaged through one of his higher shelves.

Fuck, this guy was intimidating. 

“Draco claims you are a witcher. That still gives me little reassurance, given the delicacy needed for this particular task. However, I trust that you will perform as excellently as you can.” Snape didn’t speak like a normal person, his words were practically dripping from his mouth like black ink blotting a piece of parchment. Harry had no idea what to say to that, so he wisely shut his mouth and let the blonde demon do the talking. 

“Yeah, he even saw through the Disillusionment Charm I had on me!”  _ There was a Disillusionment Charm around the boy? No wonder Hedwig almost stepped on him. _

Snape paused in his rummaging to give the boy an exasperated look. “Draco, where is the guard that was supposed to be accompanying you?”

“I don’t know, he lost sight of me, I think.” he shrugged carelessly with an air of childlike innocence, and if Harry could smell lies, he was very sure that Draco would be reeking of dog dung. Snape clucked his tongue in disapproval. 

“Jarl Lucius would be very displeased to hear about that.”

“Father would probably congratulate me on being able to fool his top men.”

“Wait, what?” Harry butted in stupidly, his mind stuttering to a halt. “Jarl Lucius?” Snape gave a sigh that was a mix of condescending and annoyed. 

“Draco here is Jarl Lucius Malfoy’s son,” Snape said in a very clipped tone. At that point, Draco had already gotten bored of the conversation and made a beeline for the telescope in the middle of the room. The child hummed excitedly, closing one eye and shoving his open one in front of the lens. “Although, I’m not very surprised that you have no idea. You are, after all, a witcher who never stays in one place for too long.”

Draco being the son of a jarl made a lot more sense, actually, no wonder he wasn’t permitted to go to the College just yet. But there was still the matter of his father. “Uh… Jarl Lucius?” Harry repeated with wide eyes, Snape’s words barely registering in his brain. The man shot him a withering look, so Harry hurriedly tried to explain himself. “Isn’t the domain under Jarl Salazar Slytherin’s rule?”

“Goodness gracious, I only hope that stupidity is not contagious.” Snape sneered, going back to his shelves. “How have you not heard about the death of Jarl Slytherin? Were you perhaps brain dead three years ago?” 

“Er, well, kind of. Almost.” Harry admitted. Snape paused again to throw him a disbelieving look. He pinched the bridge of his hooked nose before pulling out a package.

“I believe that I’d rather go my life not knowing whatever that was supposed to mean. Here,” Snape passed him an expensive-looking box, and Harry had to remind himself he wasn’t allowed to open it, because no one cared about their employees’ curiosity. “Deliver this to Marvolo’s in Little Hangleton. The recipient will supply you with ample compensation, as long as the package is undisturbed.”

“Why use a courier when magic is an option?” Harry blurted out his question, almost regretting it immediately after.

“I suppose I should be grateful that while you seem unable to stop yourself from asking questions, you can at least come up with more intelligent ones.” Snape went back to one of his desks, bringing out a sheaf of parchment from a drawer. “The package is very sensitive, and magical modes are by no means calm methods of travel.” Harry wrinkled his nose, understanding completely. Witchers and magic that weren’t one of their usable combat signs mixed as well as Draco and Hedwig did. Harry was never fond of apparition and floo, having heard the tales of the unfortunate souls that messed up before. “Therefore, I must ask you to secure the package properly. Avoid strapping it to your horse directly if you plan to gallop all the way there, as the potion would be rattled inside.” Snape dipped his quill into an inkwell, writing something in what Harry could see was the same fancy handwriting he had seen on the notice.

_ His black cloak made of fine material, but upon closer inspection was a little worn after being used a lot for a couple of years. His hands smelled of so many different herbs that Harry couldn’t ever hope to name them all, and his hands had been on the map recently. Tracing lines over the borders and the roads of the city surrounding the King’s Dome. _

“Any other instructions?” Harry asked, eyes already scanning the box and brain rapidly thinking of all the ways he could secure it. A folded piece of parchment was placed on top of the box by a pale, veiny hand. Harry looked up to meet Snape’s eyes again.

His gaze was very serious as he told Harry, “You must not die while on this contract, for I will have my head chopped off.”

Harry stared. “Wow, this package is really important then, eh?” he chuckled nervously, pocketing the note. “I haven’t failed a single contract in my three years on The Path, I won’t easily allow something like a delivery to stain my record.”

Snape cocked his head, considering him for a moment, giving Harry the impression that he had misunderstood something he had said. Snape twisted his lips before pivoting and stalking off. His cloak billowed behind him in a very dramatic way, which was actually quite impressive, Harry had to admit. “Make sure that you don’t botch this job up. And don’t die anytime soon either, brat. This senseless, repetitive war has already taken so many.” 

Draco pulled back from the telescope, and Harry did a double-take when he locked gazes with him. Instead of the conceited look of a wealthy, privileged prodigy that Draco flawlessly executed, there was a sort of wisdom in his stare that was more prominent than his arrogance, a kind of sorrow that Harry had never seen on any other child’s face. 

Although, now that Harry thought about it, his expression was actually a little familiar to him, like a dream he was on the cusp of forgetting forever. 

Harry was starting to feel a little uneasy, his nerves alight with an unfamiliar feeling that he couldn’t even name. He couldn’t exactly explain it, but his instincts were telling him to get the hell out of this room before he ended up saying something really, really stupid.

“Take care as well, Snape. And you too, Draco.” he bowed his head before rushing out of the room, but damn his enhanced hearing because he didn’t quite manage to leave before hearing a bit of the conversation he narrowly escaped. 

“I like him, Uncle Sev. Will we see him again soon?”

“More times than we’d like to, Draco.”

“You seem to know him well. Are you sure you haven’t met him before?”

“I may be wrong, but I believe that you have brought in the Boy-Who-Lived.”

“Who is that?”

“As of the moment, I cannot say. But you must never tell a single soul.”

Before he stumbled out of the shop, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. His eyes desperately traced the fringe that fell over his forehead messily but effectively.

Severus Snape had no way of seeing the scar on his head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! How is life for all of you? Hope you all are doing good, and I hope you all enjoyed the story so far! Would you guys like to share what you think? I'm always looking for improvement and if it's a bit confusing, I can answer questions about the world and edit the chapters to make it make sense (make it make sense, love >~<) and I'm really excited to post future chapters! This story is a lot of fun to write, I do wish you guys also find it fun to read :3 
> 
> The next scene is a longer chapter, exclusively starring Harry and Tom! I'm very excited to release it, a lot of things go down and I double-triple checked it and tried my best to make it good. *cheers* See you all maybe next week? Please stay safe everyone and take care!


	4. Act II: Reenacting - Scene III

Harry wasn’t really one to dwell on anything, and who the hell could blame him? He was practically a nomad, traveling the world in the hopes that he’d come across someone who was about to die. So that he could prevent them from dying. By killing something else. His simple violent lifestyle was just one of the things that Harry didn’t really enjoy thinking about, it was easier to just… not. 

Needless to say, he didn’t let the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing bother him. It was just a stupid moniker given to him when he had come out of many consecutive contracts and brawls unscathed. The name had stuck when people had seen his lightning bolt-shaped scar and claimed that he was some sort of gift from whatever deity the human race worshipped in this era, never mind the fact that Harry was just a regular old monster slayer who on occasion, helped people out and did them favors. His scar most probably came from one of the many fights that he didn’t remember. It was actually offensive, how they thought so little of his kind. Did they really think that he had to be some sort of hero to act like a decent human being?

Witchers weren’t the hero type, and neither was Harry, for that matter. He wasn’t some white knight from a kid’s picture book. 

Thinking about it, even if the guy was magic, there was a very, very low chance that Snape had even seen his scar. But there was an even lower chance that the organized man who wore all black, who owned three floors full of books, who was an acclaimed alchemist, herbalist  _ and  _ an associate of the Jarl, would draw conclusions without gathering enough evidence. Were people now talking about how he looked, how the Boy-Who-Lived was a small, uninteresting-looking human with big green eyes and untidy hair? And why would Snape of all people even care about some drifter like him? 

But Harry was going to  _ think  _ that Snape was just batshit crazy, because the alternative was just too distracting. Harry had work, he had jobs to do and coin to make, and in all the three years that he remembered being on The Path, he couldn’t help but feel that if he had stopped to think more often, he’d probably be dead by now.

So instead of thinking about Snape and Draco, Harry used his brain to cook up a new idea on how to get to Little Hangleton. Hedwig wasn’t an option, not anymore. He wasn’t going to risk any damages to the package, especially since he planned to go through the faster (and more dangerous) route that led to the other end of the domain, completely going against Snape’s request of trying not to get himself killed. Hell, Harry was pretty sure he would end up passing by Knockturn Alley, a place crawling with the more vicious creatures, shady businessmen and thieves. 

But Harry had succeeded in brainstorming for an idea that was an even safer alternative than spending a full week jogging beside the circular border of Slytherin, even if it went against everything he was taught in Godric’s Hollow. 

‘Course, he wasn’t really fond of his new scheme as well, since he’d have to leave Hedwig behind in the stables. But if he was going to be honest with himself, he was excited too because this contract was the  _ perfect  _ excuse to get on a broom again.

After leaving Hedwig in the care of the stableman, he gulped down a Disillusionment Potion and kicked off into the sky with his rented broom.

Harry, like all other witchers, couldn’t stand any form of magical transportation, but he harbored a secret soft spot for flying. On a broom up in the air, he felt free, felt like he was doing something forbidden (he sort of was, if he thought about it a little harder, but he didn’t because Harry didn’t want to think about things that he was better off ignoring) and it was like he was at total peace, above all his own worries and the burden of having to deal with  _ people  _ down below. Flying was therapeutic, sort of how he’d rather go out to slay monsters than meet people at parties, because at least monsters were straight with him.

And that was what flying was: simple, easy. It was a talent that Harry just  _ knew  _ ran in his blood, rather than a talent he had labored for or destroyed his body to learn. 

He let out a carefree whoop, already feeling ten times lighter with the wind whipping his hair back. With one arm, he held the package that he had tied to his broom carefully, making sure it was as still as possible. Sure, he would’ve liked to go a little faster, make a few loops in the air while he was at it, but Snape’s threat was thankfully still fresh and he wisely decided against it.

He lazily flew over tidy villages and rich cities, flying a little higher over creature-infested areas and shoddy slums. At one point, he had even draped his torso over the broom, sighing in contentment. 

Thankfully, the air was clear of any airborne monsters, at least for today. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and enjoyed his little trip over Slytherin. 

When he arrived in Little Hangleton, it was many hours past nightfall, many hours since the Disillusionment Potion had worn off. 

_ The hooting of a few owls, the soft cry of a distant wolf. The magic thrumming in the air, even when at rest, was even stronger than the magical yet chaotic aura of Spinner’s End. Many houses smelled of herbs and of potions as strong as Snape’s, other houses held the potent scent of ash, wood polish and parchment. There were fewer buildings, but they were grander, taller and sturdier. And it was so quiet. So calm. The sleepy town illuminated by torchlight, a peaceful and rich paradise for the magically strongest among all of Slytherin.  _

It didn’t take long for Harry to find Marvolo’s as he made a few more laps around the town. And whatever subconscious expectation that he had of the place was exceeded tenfold with just one look.

There was the word  _ Marvolo’s  _ formed by the metal of the black gate, right in the middle of what could only be a circular lock. Polished ivory walls surrounded a manor that was a bit on the smaller side, but not in any way less breathtaking, even in the darkness. There was a large balcony overlooking the wide garden, and tall windows that bathed the night with the glow of the manor’s candelabrums. 

_ With a name like  _ Marvolo’s _ , you’d think it’d just be some shop, not a whole fucking mansion,  _ Harry rolled his eyes in his head.

Harry, not wanting a powerful but paranoid magic wielder to blast him into pieces as soon as he stepped foot in their property, gingerly dismounted his broom in front of the imposing gate. He untied the box and after setting aside the now immobile broom, tried to look for some sort of magical knocker.

Only to find out that when pushed, the gate would open. Harry raised his eyebrows.

_ Someone’s confident in his security,  _ Harry thought before stepping into the estate. He followed the mortared path, walking slowly to admire the flowers in full bloom and the magical foliage that rustled with the wind. Fireflies danced around the trimmed bushes that bore exotic-looking fruits, illuminating the path and giving the manor an even more ethereal appearance. He walked past an undecorated but magnificent fountain, even stopping to admire the lilies by the front of the steps.

He knocked on the door that was probably taller than three of him, feeling unreasonably like the manor’s grandiose size was a jig at how small and insignificant he was. Pompous rich people. “Hello, anyone home?” 

The door swung open. Just one of the many warning signs that Harry didn’t care to acknowledge. He strode right in, shutting the door behind him with a click.

The interior of the manor was as lavish as it looked on the outside. Pricey looking armchairs and couches around a roaring fireplace, a furry and soft-looking carpet that Harry could sleep in for the rest of his life, a long table wiped clean and ornamented with a strange sort of bonsai in the middle and wow, would you look at that. A shit ton of bookshelves. How many books did magic wielders read? Did they have them for breakfast as well? 

“Sorry ‘bout the floor, might’ve gotten dirt on it or something,” Harry apologized sheepishly, calling out to the empty room. He stepped in after checking the state of his shoes, setting aside the box on the table. “Might wanna upgrade your security as well. Got no idea what tomorrow might bring. You never know when someone will try to come here and stab you in the—” 

_ “Expulso.” _

_ A very powerful spell was going to hit him, he could feel it gaining momentum and it was going to strike him right between his shoulder blades so Harry threw up Quen as fast as he could because he had no time to dodge— _

His shield shattered on impact, but the spell was so strong that Harry had to take an unsteady step back. His eyes scanned the room as he bent his knees and elbows, ready to throw a punch or drop into a crouch.

_ Muffled footsteps behind him.  _ Harry swung around, about to pull out a sword and fuck he didn’t care which sword he just  _ needed one,  _ when he was forced to bend his back as a purple spell whizzed past where his head was, singing his clothing and burning a part of his skin.

Harry rolled back just as an explosion was set off right where he was standing.

“Hey, wait a goddamned moment—” the shadow stilled for a blessed half-second before it snarled, throwing two more curses at him. Harry dodged the first and drew Quen for the second, unsurprised when his shield broke again under the power of just one spell.  _ Shit, this mage was strong and quick as fuck. With reflexes of no ordinary illusionist or herbalist.  _ Harry tried to jump closer to the shadow to land a hit, his right hand reaching for his steel blade while simultaneously swerving to dodge a nasty-looking hex. 

The silhouette sent a hex that stung his hand just before he got to his sword. Harry pulled back his fingers with a hiss, unable to draw his weapon. He kicked the shadowy outline of the man in the stomach and made the Igni sign, singing his attacker’s hand. The shrouded figure retaliated by magically lifting a candelabrum and smashing it against Harry’s temple. Harry refused to cry out, agile in his movements as he evaded other spells left and right, some snagging him and others absorbed by the manor’s magic-proof walls. He finally reached the wielder’s side after he shrugged off one of the weaker jinxes, managing to whack the first thing he picked up—funnily enough, it was a book as thick as Harry’s whole thumb— against the mage’s back, expelling the breath out of him and scratching his skin with the sharper corners.

But when the magic-using shadow lunged itself at him instead of firing more curses, Harry was taken aback and was caught totally unprepared for a physical attack.

He was tackled to the floor, and hands, very  _ human  _ hands went straight for his neck. The charm that kept his face hidden melted away to reveal chestnut brown hair and scarlet eyes practically dripping with rage. 

“Who are you?” The mage spoke in a rough and low voice, his words slow as he pressed down on Harry’s neck and cut off his oxygen supply. His eyes widened and grew moist, and he couldn’t help but gasp for air, his chest heaving under the man’s weight. Harry coughed, freeing his hand from under him and staring straight into scarlet.

“Your fucking... courier,” he struggled to spit out angrily before he planted his hand against his attacker’s face and shoved him away. He annoyingly held his ground, following Harry’s force and sitting up to a kneeling position, hovering above Harry’s gut. Harry managed to get up on his elbows but froze when the man pointed his open palm directly in between his eyes. 

“I asked you. Who are you? How did you get in?” His voice was deadly. He looked as venomous and as slick as one with a real and frighteningly intimate hatred.

He glared defiantly, matching the man’s burning gaze with his own heated one. “I’m not the one who left their gate  _ and _ their front door open, and I’m here because I entered a contract with Severus Snape. To deliver a fucking package. Can you fuck off now?” Harry swore, tempted to swing a kick in the head from behind but deciding that it was unwise. He settled for an Aard sign, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips when the man was finally flung back.

They both got to their feet, but Harry was quicker. He foolishly drew an Yrden sign, the purple runes flashing into the ground and slowing his opponent down. His very  _ magical  _ opponent snapped his fingers, undoing his trap at once. 

Lovely. Axii would probably do no good either, not that Harry had planned to use it against a mage who ate books. Probably wouldn’t work on him, powers or no powers, the man was too sharp, too smart.

Said man sent a fireball which Harry dodged. It hit the couch harmlessly, but Harry was pretty sure that if it had hit him instead, it would’ve been a far different story. Making a quick decision, he drew a short knife instead of his sword and grabbed the back of a couch, propelling himself forward. He stabbed the place where the mage’s shoulder used to be, and yelped when his arm was grabbed and he was spun around. His face was smashed into a shelf full of books and into an annoyingly sharp book cover, which Harry was very certain messed up some part of his face. Harry just swivelled to the side and reversed their positions, jamming the man’s back into the shelves and feeling a very short-lived sense of satisfaction when he grunted in pain. He used his hands to pin the man’s wrists to his sides, shoving his knee in between the man’s legs for good measure. 

“Can you relax for a bloody second?” demanded Harry. He didn’t know if this was the right man, but for fuck’s sake, Harry was a thousand times sure that he was in the right  _ place,  _ so this was probably the guy Snape wanted him to look for. Actually, Snape looked like the type who had weird friends with missing marbles from all around the continent, and Harry should really stop expecting people to be sane and pleasant to talk to. But hell if Harry was gonna kill the man who had his bloody reward. The mage narrowed his eyes at him.

_ “Flipendo,”  _ he whispered, and any normal man would’ve probably been blasted all the way to the other side of the room and into  _ another  _ bookshelf, but Harry was quick enough to grab as much of the other’s robes as possible and brace himself. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip as the blast sent a ripple of pain throughout his body, his feet almost slipping under him. Harry did the only thing he could think of, which was digging his forehead into the man’s conveniently placed shoulder to try and anchor himself. The man stiffened at the contact, giving Harry the opportunity to shove his knife into those ridiculously wide sleeves, nailing his clothes to the shelf. And who the hell still wore cloaks that long with weather this hot? 

_ “Who are you?!”  _ Alright, okay,  _ splendid,  _ the man was really starting to lose that pretty little head of his, his words thundering and his magic reacting wildly, reaching out in all directions and extinguishing the fireplace and the few candles that lit up the room. Thank Merlin for small mercies, his catlike eyes could still see clearly in the dark. Although if Harry were to make a bet, those flashing scarlet eyes that suspiciously looked like they were downright glowing could probably see as well as his own could.

“I’m a witcher, sent by your pal  _ Snape _ . My name is fucking Harry, you mad son of a bitch!” Harry yelled right back.

“No man can pass through my wards.” He hissed in return.  _ What in the seven hells was this guy’s problem? _

Chiseled Cheekbone Man wrenched Harry’s knife from the wood with an almost inaudible grunt and slashed Harry’s arm. Harry in turn recoiled away from him but didn’t go too far, keeping in mind that he’d be giving this guy the advantage if he did. He stood there, breathing heavily, letting the knife slip uselessly into the floor which had Harry narrowing his eyes. 

_ The man didn’t know how to fight with a knife. Or he figured that Harry was better than him at close range. _

_ “Stupefy! Levicorpus!”  _ Harry dodged the first red spell, but the second caught him right in the chest. He shouted as he was yanked in the air by his ankle, but he didn’t let that stop him. He caught the knife that almost fell out of his boot because of the spell and chucked it at the guy, who was taken by surprise and couldn’t dodge out of the way in the nick of the time. The blade slashed through his side, distracting him and sending Harry back to the ground. 

_ “Diffindo!”  _ Harry ignored the cut that opened on his thigh, scrambling forward and making a quick lunge for the taller boy just as he had done to Harry earlier.

And regretted it immediately.

_ “Crucio.”  _

Harry gasped, the man’s magic like a shockwave pulsing at the speed of lightning. He fell to his knees in shock, squeezing his eyes shut, his usually (yet technically, abnormally) slow heartbeat rising and his hands falling to the floor to support his sudden weight. He hunched over, his muscles twitching as wave after wave of pain washed over him.

Pain. This mage was hurting him, hurting him so much. Every nerve was on fire, crackling and hypersensitive, every inch of his skin felt like it was being pricked with hot needles. His stomach was turning and his head was splitting open, his ears were ringing and Harry’s insides were twisting unnaturally. Harry wanted to rip his hair out, cut off his own limbs because maybe that way he couldn’t feel the way his elbow was killing him, couldn’t feel his knees knocking and collapsing. He wanted to thrash in place, knock down everything around him, but he pursed his lips instead and coerced his body into staying as still as it could.

He bit back a groan of pain, refusing to scream. He took quick breaths and tried his best to reign in his convulsions, but his efforts were fruitless. Even the skin under his fingernails felt like they were being constantly scratched at, his bones and joints were cracking in and out of place, and damn, he couldn’t stop the smallest of whimpers from escaping while he was subjected to all this torture. 

That’s what it was. Torture. And how long had Harry been under it, every single one of his nerves overloaded with unbearable sensation? Harry cracked open an eyelid, his eyesight blurring and the world swimming in front of him. He desperately tried to focus on his assailant’s own orbs, which were flickering back and forth between an even deeper, furious crimson and a stoic blue-gray. Harry nearly curled up right then and there on the floor but fought to wrap a trembling arm over his stomach instead. He coughed and gritting his teeth, his body growing weaker as he continued consuming all of his energy into locking his screams in. 

He inhaled in another sweet breath before he dove forward, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist to send them both down. 

The pain was too much, growing exponentially the longer Harry had to be under it, but he wrestled his muscles into submission, slamming a hand down on the man’s chest and pushing himself up. The man’s eyes were apparently not a trick of the light; they had flared down into their more natural blue-gray, wide with curiosity and disbelief. The spell then lost its hold on Harry, but its effects didn’t have the courtesy to disappear as well. He was practically palpitating, but Harry was determined not to show it and pushed his body to the limits. The man got up on his elbows, ironically almost like how Harry did himself when their positions were reversed. 

Before the man could utter another spell, he drew his sword as quickly as he could and warningly wedged it underneath his chin. 

“Say… one spell… and I’ll cut… your throat up.” Harry managed, his whisper more parts hoarse than it was threatening, but Harry let his actions speak for him. He lightly scraped his skin, tracing a thin line across his jugular but not hard enough to draw blood. “I mean it.... and I’ll destroy the bloody… potion as well.”

Those eyes were boring into his own, leading Harry to wonder how he looked like to the man. Panting heavily and using one arm on the other’s hip to steady himself, trying his damnest not to collapse on him. Sweat running down his face, his hair sticking up and matted with blood, maybe? Certainly felt like his head had been cracked open when he was under that fucking torture spell. The mage was still looking at him searchingly, like he was some sort of puzzle his abnormally large wizard brain was about to crack, but Harry was just the motherfucking mailman so  _ what the hell? _

“So who the flying fuck… are you supposed to be?” Harry breathed out, licking his lips and tasting blood. He must’ve bitten down on it too hard, tearing it apart with his incisors and canines. The man’s face was getting dangerously out of focus. 

The man continued to stare, but finally opened his mouth when Harry tilted his chin up with his sword. A curl on his forehead slipped to brush against the top of his ear as the man had no choice but to tip his head back, baring more of his neck to Harry. Harry didn’t fool himself into thinking he had the man cornered. He was  _ letting  _ Harry get the upper hand, because  _ he _ wasn’t the one quivering with a sword that was getting too heavy to lift. As if to highlight that Harry was the one in the very vulnerable situation and not him (well, Harry was literally on top of him so maybe that was debatable), he was calm and collected when he finally answered, “I am Voldemort.”

Voldemort. That sounded a bit familiar. Then it dawned on Harry. His realization must’ve been clear as day on his face, for Voldemort smirked in amusement.

“You know my name.” he said slowly. “Don’t you?”

“Heard of… the magic genius… after the Blizzard?” Harry heard his sword clatter to the floor. The colors were blending together. Harry blinked thrice, looking at the ceiling and back at Voldemort’s face. 

Then it clicked. He had been attacked by a man who had studied and mastered magic in less than two decades. 

Well at least he now knew why the magic hurt like a bitch, even with the resistance the witcher package was advertised with.

“Fuck me, I’m not gonna get paid enough for this… am I now?” 

“You will be alright.” Dark chocolate. Melting dark chocolate. His voice sounded just like that, just as rich, deep and dark. Harry saw blue-gray. “You may rest now.”

“The hell I ca—” Harry was interrupted by a sudden fit of coughing, choking on the metallic taste of his own blood. He fell forward, planting his hands on either side of the man to steady himself and hacking into his own shoulder. 

He felt like absolute shit. That torture curse was really something, prodigous wizard or not, Harry was going to punch the guy in the nose after he recovered. He deserved it for trying to kill the guy who travelled all the way from Spinner’s End for a delivery of a tiny box that was barely bigger than his hand.

“Allow me to apologize, Witcher.” He was being pushed up, and oh fuck, Harry had his eyes closed. He struggled to open them again, but the mage was whispering something into Harry’s ear and he was getting sleepier and sleepier as the seconds ticked. His senses started to shut down, and he noticed belatedly that his arms were no longer holding him up. Something slipped under his knees and back. “You will not come into harm as long as I am with you.”

Harry wanted to be a little shit and say something sarcastic, but he couldn’t think of the right words. He couldn’t unscramble his own thoughts before his tired body succumbed to his exhaustion, even with the threat of someone very much in control of Harry’s life, right in front of him. 

_ “You must not die while on this contract.” _ Well fuck, was that what Snape had meant? He could’ve warned Harry about this psychotic, overpowered veteran of a mage. 

But somehow, a deeper part of Harry still didn’t think that that was what Snape had meant at all. 

* * *

Harry slipped in and out of consciousness for what felt like a Long Ass Time. 

He woke up several instances (however briefly) with potions in his mouth, fingers around his skin or incantations in his ear. Or to a combination of two or all three, which were when he felt the shittiest. He couldn’t see much in the times that he was awake, too, only the dark brown of Voldemort’s hair and the dancing shadows of the candles around him. 

When he finally came to, he was slow and groggy. His headache had come back with a vengeance, throbbing through his temples and giving Harry the impression that something was pounding a hammer against his skull. He dared to open his eyes and breathed in a little deeper, trying his best to wait out the sudden wave of dizziness that overtook him. 

“Quick to recover, aren’t we, witcher?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Harry groaned as Voldemort’s annoyingly handsome face swam into his field of vision. Bloody hell, Rosier was right. Voldemort, for all his accomplishments, was not a dwindling powerhouse wizened by age and harrowing experiences, and was instead a tall and physically fit guy in his late twenties who could go toe to toe with a mutant.

He had a hunch that his surroundings wouldn’t stop spinning anytime soon. Harry turned to his side and buried his face into the blanket, which smelled like it had just been freshly laundered. 

“My, my, is that any way to treat the person that healed you?”

“It’s the perfect way to treat someone that tried to kill you, yeah.” he grumbled into the sheets, his voice muffled. The deep chuckle beside him told Harry that Voldemort had heard every word regardless. 

“If I really wanted to kill you, you would have been dead the second you entered,” he said dismissively, but Harry begged to differ. He heard him lean back in his chair. “Although I must admit it was a challenge, fighting with you.”

“Was it a challenge holding me under that torture spell for so long?” Harry, finally feeling steady enough, pushed himself up and tilted his head curiously. He was in a room that looked a bit  _ too  _ different from what he expected the clever mage to like. When Voldemort didn’t reply immediately, Harry inspected the bed. “And why is this room so spectacularly Gryffindor?”

There was no other way for Harry’s addled brain to describe it. The pillows were white and fluffy, the covers a rich red that almost matched the red of Voldemort’s eyes when he was in his magic-induced fit. There was a big golden yellow carpet in the middle of the room and a spruce cabinet in the corner, up against the maroon walls. Two dressers were on either side of the bed, tastefully matching in material, but what was most eye-catching were the odd trinkets and seemingly random items that littered the shelves and to some extent, the floor. There was even a very pricey looking broom in the corner that Harry itched to put his hands on.

“I thought you would appreciate it. Godric’s Hollow is in Gryffindor, is it not?”

“The room’s lovely and all, but I’m not gonna act like I know shit about interior design when I’m more used to sleeping on logs than I am on beds.” Harry scowled when his retort merely entertained him, another one of those half-condescending chuckles slipping from his mouth. “What was so important and fragile in that bloody potion anyway?”

“The potion is called the Draught of Living Death, one of Severus Snape’s original creations. It is the strongest sleeping draught in the whole country, and ingesting a single drop could render the drinker unconscious for an indefinite period of time.” Voldemort tilted his head, eyes narrowing in consideration as he observed Harry’s reactions. Harry didn’t actually expect the wizard to go into a mini-lecture, but—“Were the potion exposed to too much disturbance, be it magical or otherwise, the vial would explode and all of it would go to waste. Moreover, were the vial in a magically active area, its ingredients would react badly with its surroundings, causing the air to become poison to all living things.”

Well. Well, well _._ Harry stared dumbly back at him before collapsing back into the pillows, glowering at the ceiling. “This was not what I had in mind when I was looking for an interesting contract. Snape never mentioned how dangerous this thing was, nor did he say anything about his recipient being a bloodthirsty, sadistic prick. What if I didn’t set the box aside before you threw that first spell at me?”

“You will have to excuse my past behavior. It was a temporary lapse in judgement, I’m afraid.”

_ “A temporary lapse in— _ ” Harry sputtered. 

“Forgive me, but I am not the kind of man that would throw his doors wide open to the public, not even to the inhabitants of a settlement like Little Hangleton.” he cut through smoothly, linking his fingers together and crossing his legs. His little ‘forgive me’ didn’t really sound that genuine to Harry. He frowned, leveling the younger of the two with a stare that was half-accusing, half-curious. “There are numerous spells both on the gate and on the front door, several wards even, protecting the manor. For someone to manage waltzing in without the wards even notifying me, that meant danger. So imagine my surprise when I found an armed man with more dirt on his face than skin calling out to seemingly no one in my living room.” 

“Your wards were probably broken, I felt nothing when I entered.” Harry snipped. Voldemort’s look turned exasperated. 

“You  _ do _ know who you are talking to, yes, witcher?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m apparently talking to an arrogant sod who can’t accept that his wards may need a little maintenance every now and then. Or,” he hastily added upon seeing the expression on his face. “Or the wards don’t work on witchers. ‘Cuz, y’know, we’re magic resistant.”

“Ah, but not magic proof,” he corrected. Harry noticed the man was out of his stuffy cloak and was wearing a deceptively simple tunic that was probably worth more than Hedwig and Harry combined. “Well, you clearly have no idea how you bypassed the wards. It is rather disappointing that I took the time to heal you when you have none of the answers I need.” 

“This whole bit where I needed healing, yeah, this was all your doing.” Harry bit, swinging his legs off of the bed. “Thank you for your, uh, hospitality, or sad attempt at it more like, but I must really get going—”

The wind in Harry’s lungs got knocked out of him as he was pushed back by a light magical blast. Harry winced as his shoulder cracked in protest.

“Merlin, will you  _ ever  _ stop trying to kill me?”

“You will stay in bed and do your best  _ not  _ to undo all my work.” Voldemort glared at him, blue-gray gleaming with the flame of a nearby candle reflected in them. “You do not actually think that your body only needs an hour of rest after being hit with a Cruciatus Curse? How arrogant of you.” Harry was  _ not  _ the arrogant twat between two of them.

“I don’t even know what that is. And I feel fine, actually, let’s just chalk it up to how  _ brilliant  _ your healing is and—hey, wait,” Harry stopped and repeated his words in his head. “I was only out for an hour?” 

“Is that not what I just said? And here I thought that witchers had remarkable hearing,” the other man snarked, standing up from his armchair irritably. Harry was in total disbelief; he honestly thought that a couple more hours had passed, judging from how well his wounds had closed. “This is the part where I, and not you, will leave. A house-elf will come by a little bit later, and will tend to your needs.”

And also, who the hell did this guy think he was, Harry’s fucking schoolmaster? 

“I think I like you better when you’re actively trying to kill me. At least then, I don’t have to understand half the shit you say,” blurted Harry, crossing his arms. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a grown-ass man who can handle himself.  _ Thank you  _ for undoing the damage from our little spat, which, by the way, would’ve never happened if you had just calmed your tits. Fucking hell, I’ve got things to do. Y’know, like slaying monsters, delivering potions that could very well end my life, that sort of thing.”

“Do you normally talk like you don’t have enough brains to string a sentence together without inserting the idiotic profanity that you favor so much in it?” snapped Voldemort, his mouth twisting in annoyance. He did that a lot, Harry noticed. 

“No, I reserve my more unconventional vocabulary for the people I think would appreciate it the most.” Harry said sarcastically. 

“So crabby, but I suppose it can’t be helped. Lessons on how to break in private properties and on where to stab with your blade must take precedence over the basic concepts of grace and gratitude at Godric’s Hollow.”

“And at the College, snottiness must have been the first thing you learned.”

Voldemort let a look of good humor slip from his usually smug expression. “In certain ways, that may be considered true. I was studying mostly with intelligent Ravenclaws and cunning Slytherins, after all. But, we digress. I have certain matters to attend to, and I have yet to pay you for your, ah,  _ services  _ as well. You shall stay here until I deem you ready for another round of your… adventuring.”

Harry, being a person who was as proud as he was short-tempered, sprang up from the bed and yelled, “You don’t know how  _ ready _ I am to sock you in the—” 

He cut himself off when his ribs objected to the sudden movement. An unpredicted stabbing in his side prevented him from speaking further, his hand flying to press on it and to apply pressure in surprise and discomfort.

Voldemort arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “You were saying, witcher?”

“This was nothing compared to the time I almost got eaten by a Sphinx.”

The aristocratic-looking man let out a long-suffering sigh. “Why must you be so difficult?” Then he murmured something that Harry didn’t catch. 

“What did you—?” Then Harry felt it. Voldemort’s magic felt like a bottomless well of strength, but this time it was like warmth and comfort was slowly filling up his body, an almost subtle lull calming him down. Voldemort continued to mutter strange things under his breath, and Harry didn’t think to make him shut up as he was still reeling from his sudden mood change. When his eyelids started to grow heavy, and when the muscles he had tensed up in anger started to relax, his body that was rapidly turning into mush could only muster up enough energy to flash the mage a rude finger gesture as his mind finally caught up.

“Fuck you.”

The last thing he heard before he slipped into slumber was that infuriating chuckle. “Sleep well, witcher.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My topic proposal has been distracting me from writing fanfics and other things (ahahaha you sure it's not the other way around, hun) But hey, longer chapters from here on out! Maybe! :DD
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this... eventful meeting HAHAHAHAHA I think I've made more questions than I've answered, but I really love them making them duel! Not gonna lie, I'm really not used to planning so I'm still bogging through a bit on the details, but hey, that means we get to find out the story together :D I hope I get the snark right in the succeeding chapters, I'd love to be able to make their dialogue interesting to see. Thoughts on the story so far? Hope you're enjoying it! :> Yay, first update of the month! Around two or three more are scheduled for this September, but it's not a definite thing, it depends a little on feedback and more on the given workload for online classes. Thank you for all your support, it truly means a lot, I hope to see you all next time! <3


	5. Act II: Reenacting - Scene IV

Harry woke up with the sun. 

And with two big, watery eyes an inch away from his own. 

Harry twitched in surprise, but managed to force down a more undignified response after recognizing the shape of the creature’s pupils and the big, floppy ears on top of her head.

“Good Master Harry has waken,” The house-elf greeted, blue eyes twinkling as she gave him a wide grin. Her tiny yellow dress fluttered around her as she backed away, falling into a low and slow curtsy. “Is you hungry, is you feeling better? Winky was quite worried.”

“No, I’m alright, thank you for asking… er, Winky.” Harry offered a tentative smile back, before pushing himself up to lean on the bed’s headboard. “Is Voldemort still around?”

“Master Voldemort be downstairs in the drawing room. If you is no longer be needing anything, Winky must inform Master Voldemort of Good Master Harry’s awakens.” Winky chirped happily, twirling on her heel and disapparating with a  _ POP!  _ Harry stared at the spot for a few moments before looking up towards the ceiling and muttering a soft, “Why is this my life?” He gripped the edge of the bed and swung himself off. He had to find Voldemort or the exit, whichever came first.

Marvolo’s was a huge arse mansion, he’d probably not have understood anything even if he asked Winky for directions. Luckily, he had two options: either he sniffed Voldemort out the Harry way or throw himself out of the nearest window. While Harry was more inclined to do the latter, he suddenly remembered the curious severed tongue he had on him, the cash that he had risked life and limb for, and the fact that he was on the overpowered mage’s home ground. 

He slouched in irritated resignation and sullenly went with the former option, closing his eyes briefly to detect the strongest source of Voldemort’s unique scent. He shouldered his satchel before following it briskly, slipping in the doorless room a floor down from where Harry had been dumped. 

The tall mage looked up from where he was standing over his desk, several books and scrolls spread over on the surface in an organized manner. Like, in an obsessively organized manner that Harry was inherently allergic to. “Most impressive, witcher, though I expected no less from you.” 

“Afraid I can’t say the same about you,” Harry crossed his arms. “Sane folk don’t really keep strange people in their homes.”

“Sane people with no power or knowledge to boast of yes,” Voldemort corrected with a tone of bored indifference, beckoning Harry over with a subtle gesture. “Come, I have something I must discuss with you.”

“Unless it’s about my job, no thank you. I just want my coin, okay, and don’t think that I don’t deserve a generous tip just because you healed me. I would’ve done fine on my own.” Harry flinched as his medallion thrummed violently, sensing magic on his person. With a minute widening of his eyes, he lurched sideways as his satchel suddenly bulked with heavy coin. His eyes widened. 

That… that felt like a  _ lot.  _ Harry was convinced that he was carrying at least six months’ worth of food money.

“Au contraire, witcher, this has everything to do with your job, and this rune that you had been carrying around.” Long fingers snapped and the severed tongue came flying from Harry’s small pouch to hover above his hand. The triangular inscription burned a bright gold before its magic was peeled away from the blackened muscle. “What say you and I go on a mission?”

“A mission?”

“Correct, a mission.” Voldemort waved his hand as if he already knew what Harry was going to ask and decided that he’d answer him anyway. “Not an archetypal contract, for I am not employing you for a task that you must accomplish alone. I am recruiting you to join me, with the understanding that you may be of much help to me. You will be sufficiently rewarded, of course”

Harry unconsciously gripped his satchel that was practically bursting with galleons. “Hm. Details first.” Harry eyed him distrustfully as the tongue faded out of existence with another snap. 

“A month ago, the master alchemist Nicholas Flamel disappeared off the face of the earth, along with his wife and assistant, Perenelle. After a few weeks with no word from them, they were presumed dead by the King’s Dome. Now, four days before your abrupt visit to my estate, I was summoned by both representatives of the King’s Dome and the College of Magic. I learned that the College conducted a search inside the Flamels’ home, to read over their notes and to pack away any dangerous artifacts and substances.” Voldemort paused, and with a wave of his hand, summoned an envelope from the table. “The College discovered that they had created a potentially malicious powerful object, or what the Flamels called, the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Hold on right there,” interrupted Harry, mind swirling with the intel but still itching to find a way out. “I’m no good at most things magic-related.”

Voldemort leveled him with an unimpressed stare, as if he knew exactly what Harry was thinking. “I am aware, but this is one matter where your assistance is highly desirable, for the Flamels had hidden their Philosopher’s Stone. Their notes say that it is heavily guarded and that no ordinary magic-wielder may ever hope to survive a search for it. After a spectacularly disastrous incident where a group of five attempted to go and find it, they had resorted to asking for my help.”

Harry really didn’t want to know what happened to those unlucky sods. “So, what’s so special about that rock anyway?”

“It turns ordinary metals into gold and silver.”

Harry’s eyes bugged out in alarm. “Fuck?”

“It may also be a key component in constructing an Elixir of Life.”

_ No. Hell fucking no.  _

“Wha—shit like that  _ exists?” _   


“Apparently so, yes. And you, witcher, have brought in evidence of the Flamels’ continued existence.” Voldemort gave him a tight-lipped smirk. “The rune embedded on the snake tongue, was the Flamel insignia.” 

“The Flamel insig—but I found it in some bored and murderous boa constrictor’s mouth in The Crossroads, and there were no signs of any immortal couples on vacation over there!” Harry insisted skeptically, but fully aware that he was thigh-deep in a shitload of trouble. 

“The Crossroads, you say? For a pair of alchemists running away from death and from the law, they are a smidgen too close to the King’s Dome for comfort. However, if they were truly in The Crossroads, then they are also close to…” Voldemort trailed off glancing at him expectantly. 

“The Central Unbordered Lands.” Harry narrowed his eyes as Voldemort smirked at him again.

“Excellent, all the more that you must accompany me in my search.” 

“Look, I don’t deal with things like these. Maybe I could’ve dealt with a contract from the College or from the King’s Dome, even if they’re mostly full of arrogant little shits, but a  _ mission  _ with someone who almost killed me, from  _ both  _ institutions?”

“I was under the impression that you would’ve been more than interested.”

“If I was interested in  _ dying,  _ yes.” Harry snapped. “I don’t work in tag teams, and I’m especially not going to be an errand boy who cleans after the more toxic messes of aristocrats.”

“You think magic wielders see themselves as aristocratic?”

“No, I think that the people who head the college or reside at the King’s Dome do in fact, fancy living careless lives in posh homes. This mission they assigned you has got nothing to do with me, and I shouldn’t meddle in things that are outside of my understanding. I’m a monster slayer, not some sort of archaeologist.”

“Have you imagined all the adventures that you may be able to experience, just with this one contract?”

“Yeah, I have, and it’s a ploughing bad idea. Let me remind you that people don’t usually go on some sort of  _ quest  _ with a person who tried to kill them the first time they met. I’m perfectly content staying neutral and sticking my head where it belongs, and there’s no way that you can change my mind.”

* * *

“I can’t believe you managed to change my mind.” Harry whined childishly, kicking a tiny pebble. Voldemort let out a half-grunt, half-snort that was still more graceful than any of Harry’s attempts at formality.

“You speak as if it was such a difficult endeavor. All I had to do for your participation was wave promises of money and adventure,” he replied airily, his lightweight robes billowing softly behind him as he strode past the bushes. 

“No, you practically forced me to come here.”  _ Yeeaaah _ .  _ No he didn’t.  _

“No, I did not.” He echoed Harry’s thoughts pointedly. Harry ignored it. 

“And I can’t believe we traveled to The Crossroads through  _ apparition.”  _ Harry shuddered, his unease very much real. “Do you know how many people splinch themselves or end up landing in fuck all?” 

Voldemort spun around so suddenly that Harry walked right into him, crashing into his chest. A hand on his shoulder steadied him. Harry snapped his neck to look up. “My dear witcher,” Blue-gray regarded him with a, dare he say it, mischievous look. “Do you honestly believe that I will allow any harm to fall upon you while you are with me?” 

Harry blinked twice and stared, not quite understanding. “Huh?” Voldemort held his gaze, and for a while Harry just stood there reactionless before he snapped out of it, realizing that the wizard was waiting for a reply. “Er…” Harry stammered, his brain crackling with his inability to formulate a proper response. Blood rushed to his cheeks as Voldemort scrutinized him, incredibly close yet coolly composed. Making a quick, half-baked decision, Harry settled for a brief incredulous look while unintelligibly murmuring something, before he brushed past him.

“You’d be surprised at how good I am at staying alive.” Harry finally said, ignoring the sudden cold chuckle from the powerful mage, as if he found that notion particularly funny. Condescending git. He and Voldemort fell into step, the man’s longer legs allowing him to catch up easily. “My gut just twists at the thought of apparition. Portkeys are only marginally better, and the floo makes my head hurt like a bitch.”

“I noticed you flew to reach Little Hangleton from Spinner’s End.” The man followed suit, not acting as if he had just done something really, really weird. Harry’s eye twitched as he reined in a sudden thirst for violence. His fingers reached to toy with the ring in his left hand in an attempt to stop himself from kicking a tree, or more temptingly, Voldemort’s abdomen. “Does that not count as magical transportation?”

“Flying’s a personal exemption.”

“Strange. If I recall correctly, non-magicals are unable to command a broom’s cooperation.” Voldemort mused. “Then again, you are a mutant. Fascinating.” 

“Glad I’m of interest to you,” Harry muttered sardonically, not even flinching when he felt his boot sink into soft and moist soil. The sun bathed the two in warm light as they hiked up the slight slope, but Harry couldn’t help notice that Voldemort, in all his unnecessary grace, was practically gliding across the grass. “Why do you still look like you’re about to make an appearance in the fucking King’s Dome?”

“Forgive me for having eyes and knowing fabric from rags.” Harry itched to throttle the smugness out of his voice. 

“You’re annoying.”

“Glad we harbor the same feelings towards each other.”

“If I’m so annoying, then why did you hire me?”

“Goodness knows that I cannot let this opportunity pass up. Time is of the essence, after all.” Whatever the hell that meant. They were quite a far distance from the beaten path already, and Harry would’ve asked Voldemort how the hell he knew where they were supposed to go from The Crossroads, but then his medallion started humming on top of his chest. 

“Oh good, you’ve finally noticed as well,” Voldemort replied breezily, and Harry wasn’t sure where he got the information on witcher amulets, but it made Harry even more suspicious of the sketchy-looking man. He was really so much more knowledgeable than all the common folk that Harry had been working with for the past few years, hell, even Snape’s knowledge and sophistication made Harry a little nervous. He was once again reminded of the large difference between the people living in the outskirts and in the hearts of their respective domains. “Although the Flamels must have been careful, I noticed the faintest hints of magic in the air the second we apparated. They used a spell, a very minor healing spell, one that is not usually detectable if it is not being looked for.”

“You can tell what spell they used?” Harry asked disbelievingly. Voldemort smirked. 

“Fewer can detect it, but even fewer can identify it.” Arrogant fuckhead. 

“Okay, whatever. What happens when we meet them? We’re gonna squeeze the location of this Stone thing out of them?”

“Oh, heavens no, I respect the Flamels too much for that. Dialogue is a much better alternative, although I doubt that you would know much about words when you communicate through steel. My apologies if it is a touchy subject for you.”

“Alright, what the hell crawled up your arse today? Why don’t I show you that I can communicate just fine with my fists as well—”

This time, it was Harry who stopped. 

_ Crushed weeds and naked, moist soil. Two sets of human footprints leading to the left, abnormally close to one another. The larger person must have stumbled quite a bit, and had probably been leaning on the smaller person for support. Most probably male and female. Not as fresh as he would have liked, but they couldn’t be more than five days old.  _ Harry knelt down to take a closer look, before he let his eyes trail over the clumsy tracks. 

“Follow me,” he said, all insults and irritation flying out of the window as he zeroed in on the trail. Voldemort did not speak another word and followed after him without even a hint of hesitation. 

The trail led them a lot farther away. A pack of wolves tried to leap and sink their teeth into their flesh, but Harry and Voldemort were quick to subdue them before they could land their paws on the ground. The leaves and the bushes grew thicker, the grass grew even longer, but they soon found themselves in front of a small cave on the bottom of a high and unstable cliff. Even with Harry’s witcher senses, he couldn’t see shit through the dark mouth that highly resembled a black void. 

“Cozy,” Voldemort commented unnecessarily. A cluster of white light was settled on his palm, dancing like an energetic flame. “Shall we investigate?” 

“Sure,” Harry tucked away the Cat Potion that he instinctively reached for. Now that Voldemort was here, there was hardly a need for one of his night vision brews.  “Let’s go.” 

Upon entering the cave, Voldemort whispered a word and his pseudo fire burned even brighter. Harry’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline as his eyes flicked over to the skeleton nearby, but merely walked on. 

_ A dry cave, too dry and hot for a normal one. Rocks looked brittle, as if the walls wanted to fall apart but then decided against it in the end. Nothing was growing on the walls or on the ceiling, and the floor was equally lifeless. It was completely silent, save for their footsteps. Not a drop of water, not any scuttle of a bug or even an ant, although the scent of rot lingered in the air. Strange. _

“They used a lot of magic here, even though I cannot sense it,” Voldemort murmured, perhaps sensing Harry’s curiosity. Gods above, was this man a mind reader as well? “Alchemists, sorcerers, their magic comes from the earth, from nature, from the world. So unlike us, the mages who channel their magic from within. They took everything this cave had to offer, perhaps even the rotting flesh of the unfortunate being over there.” 

“You mean they killed him?”

“Not necessarily, no. There is also the possibility that the corpse was already in the cave when they arrived. I cannot say for sure how long they have been in here, but they must have been working on something extraordinary to warrant this destruction.”

“Destruction is one way to put it,” Harry says, eyeing a suspicious-looking pile of dust as the two walked further down. “Are these actual stairs? In a cave?”

Voldemort peered over Harry’s shoulder to get a look, flicking his wrist and sending baby flames to light the torches on the walls. He frowned when the torches didn’t light up, but said nothing. There was indeed a staircase that led to a much dirtier-looking chamber. “Well, well, so the Flamels have hidden here long enough to feel like a little renovation was in order.” 

“Don’t think it was for comfort,” Harry grimaced, starting to pick up on a mix of foul-smelling things when he made his way down.

_ He could hear nothing from the chamber but from this angle, he could tell that the floor didn’t exactly look right. It was bumpy, uneven, and smelled a lot like ash and all things flammable. The floor looked a bit patchy, all soft and no, there were no footprints that Harry could make out, and what? Were they changing— _

“Stop.” As quick as he was in their little scuffle, Voldemort grabbed the back of his armor and stepped in front of him, chanting out, _“Lumos maxima.”_

Harry flinched and shut his eyes as a massive amount of light pervaded the whole room. The floor was not apparently a mush of rot and dirt, they were actually littered with creepers who seemed sentient enough to flinch away from the light. The vine-like tendrils retreated as close to the walls as possible, and if the plants had mouths, Harry could imagine them hissing like a wild den of affronted snakes. 

_ “Incendio,”  _ Voldemort muttered, setting the plants alight. Harry had a thousand meaningless comebacks and rude yet back-handed compliments that he felt was appropriate to dish out, but they died in his mind as he caught sight of the cold look in the master mage’s eyes. He shivered. Voldemort was an intense man and had an unfair excess of a dangerous sort of handsomeness, the angelic look of a devil as the fire cast elongated shadows on his dark figure. 

“How did you know?” Even Harry didn’t know.

“There were illusions on the floor that I couldn’t help but notice. It was so weak that I was unsure if they mattered or not, but I dismantled the spell just as you nearly fell victim to the bloodthirst of an experimental set of Devil’s Snare.”

“Devil’s Snare? Don’t you just get out of those by not moving and finding a way to light a small fire? I would’ve been fine, I know a basic fire spell.”

“I said  _ experimental,”  _ Voldemort snapped, all the good humor gone from his tone and his face. Merlin, the man did  _ not  _ like it when his genius was being poked at. What a moody son of a bitch. “Do not underestimate the Flamels, this is clearly a trap designed to kill intruders, not just render them defenceless. Let us head back upstairs and look around more.”

Harry knew he probably shouldn’t say it, but his mouth was faster than his brain and before he knew it, he was saying, “Alright, boss.” Thankfully, Voldemort thought nothing of it and led them back up. 

The cave was as uninteresting as it was when they entered it. No life, no sign of the Flamels, no clues and definitely no Philosopher’s Stone. There wasn’t even anything for Harry to track their location with, except for the faintest breeze coming from the opening of the cave. Well, at least Harry was aware of the rapidly increasing distance between them and the entrance, even if the walls were as dreadfully boring as they ever were. There was also the eerie way a few old-looking skeletons were spread haphazardly around them. 

And may Circe take pity on them, because wow, it was  _ hot.  _

Just as Harry was about to suggest that maybe they should head back, he felt it.

“Duck!” he yelled, grabbing Voldemort’s perfect collar and yanking him to the withered stone floor as an arrow whizzed past their heads. “The fuck?”

“There is something here that they do not want people to see,” Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, although he did not dare get up from his crouch just yet. 

“Well, wasn’t that fucking obvious?”

“Quiet, you insolent child.” Well, Harry was pretty sure he was only a little over five years younger than the other, but wisely kept his trap shut and his ears open to detect any movement.

The two of them stayed in their positions as Harry concentrated deeply, eyes scanning the room and ears strained as he waited for any other signs of an incoming attack. 

“Did we trigger something? Did you feel anything, like a ward?”

“No, I am afraid I have not. However, I am not as finely attuned to their style of magic, so we must be more careful from here on out.”

Harry quietly made the sign for Quen, golden light wrapping around his body before melting into the epidermis and disappearing. Voldemort erected his own shield, and after a moment of trepidation, the two went further down but far more slowly. Then, in the tense calm, a blast between them knocked Harry and Voldemort on opposite ends of the cavern. Wheezing, Harry was just about to ask if his travel companion was alright, when Voldemort growled and melted the three consecutive daggers that came sailing through the air.

Fuck. 

Harry brought out his sword and parried an even bigger arrow away, while Voldemort vanished the sickly green gas that threatened to spill from an unassuming orifice. A few clouds of smoke escaped, but Harry dispelled them with Aard before they could do more than make his eyes water. “Watch out!” Harry shouted as he launched himself in the air and away from a hidden beartrap. A split second later and an axehead appeared from nowhere and headed right where his employer was, before he deflected it back towards the ceiling with a blue spell.

An opening in the wall that Harry thought was mere decoration wheezed out a strong, orange flame that Harry rolled away from. Voldemort froze the jet of fire for him and Harry used the butt of his sword to break it. He heard the sound of metal and without thinking, grabbed one of the bigger pieces of ice from the floor. With deadly precision, he struck the sharp spike that grew spontaneously on the wall nearest to Voldemort’s body, chipping the sharp point off.

“Can you apparate us out of here?”

“I cannot, nothing is working.” Voldemort's voice was calm but his rapid spellcasting betrayed his control. 

The walls began to shake, and that was Harry’s only warning before the floor started to glow a bright purple, not unlike the glimmer of the runes in his Yrden sign. He looked towards Voldemort, considering he was the more experienced one in terms of magic, and felt his heart stutter at the widening of Voldemort’s eyes. 

“What the hell is happening?”

“The Flamels planned to bury their knowledge with us.” Another destructive-sounding boom echoed in the cave. Voldemort raised a hand, the rusty pickaxe that was aiming for his cranium splintering into fragments. With Igni, Harry incinerated the feral mice that crawled from a tiny hole near the ceiling. One white mouse jumped down to the floor, its pointed buck teeth glinting despite the lowlight, but Harry quickly disposed of it before it got any ideas.

“Got a plan?”

In response, Voldemort brought his hands up and planted his palms on the walls with a snarl.  _ “Voe’rle holl geas, voe’rle holl carraigh,”  _ he murmured, leaning heavily on the wall like he was trying to push it away.  _ “Va cáelm!”  _ **(Halt all curses, halt all rock. Calm!)** His palms started to glow a bright yellow. 

_ The grinding of blunt molars and the glint of a long fang from a distance. _

“Oi! It’s dangerous!” Harry slid his steel sword from his back and threw it like a javelin, tearing a creeping monster in half. 

“They’re just necrophages.” Voldemort’s nails dug into the wall. Harry could smell the familiar stench of disease now.  _ “Voe’rle te spar’le! Va vorte!”  _ **(Stop the attack! Begone!)**

Harry slashed at a necrophage (unidentifiable through the darkness and through his overwhelming panic) that launched itself at Voldemort, rushing to the mage’s side even as the cave quivered and collapsed around them. Voldemort’s eyes were blown wide, scarlet glowing even brighter than the purple runes, hissing several languages, dead or otherwise, and muttering chants that Harry would never understand in this lifetime.

Ghoul-like creatures came on all fours, salivating for flesh and clicking their yellowed, wood-like nails. Harry wasted no time in blasting them all away from them, striking his silver deep into the thorax of the nearest monster. It screamed and with a hurried sign, he blasted that one away from him too. Another flung itself at him, aiming for his jugular, and Harry felt its too long nails slash at his chest before his blade sank into the creature’s mouth. Another necrophage went for his ankle, managing to slice his calf before Harry kicked it and jammed the hilt right through its eye. 

_ “Que’n esse cáelm, va enne esseath!”  _ **(Thus it will be calm, gone you are!)**

Harry punched the necrophage that bared its mouth at Voldemort’s throat, shouting as its teeth punctured through his arm instead. Then the cave shook again, throwing both Harry and the monster to the nearest wall. Its teeth sank even deeper, making Harry wince and stifle another cry of pain. Fuck, he needed to stab it. Just he as slammed the monster into the wall and ignored how its teeth, once again, tore through skin, muscle and bone, he caught a glimpse of the creature’s eyes, and realized with dawning horror that he had no idea what it was. 

Voldemort’s words came back to the forefront of his mind.  _ “I  _ said _ experimental.” _ An experiment on a plant, sure, but on an honest to Merlin monster? The Flamels were batshit crazy, Harry decided as he watched the monster grow limp. Well, whatever, it didn’t matter much. Harry was not going to die, not when there was someone else that might end up following him immediately after, because of  _ his  _ inability to do his fucking job. 

Harry picked up his fallen steel sword that he had thrown earlier like a spear and rammed two of the experimental monsters on the wall, slicing their throats open with his silver blade. One of them slashed at Voldemort’s back, but with one Aard, it was sent flying to a much farther wall. 

Was it Harry’s imagination, or were these damnable things multiplying? 

One of the things knocked Harry down. The back of his skull hit the ground painfully, but Harry had no time to sort out the sudden dizzy spell. Disgusting slime that was probably supposed to be saliva was slobbering from his wide mouth, dripping down Harry’s face. Before it got to eat his face, though, Harry gripped the creature’s head and dug his thumbs in its eyes. It yowled, letting out a deafening screech, but thankfully the arching of its back allowed for Harry to flip them and slice him clean. 

_ “Que’n esse cáelm, va enne esseath! Que’n esse cáelm, va enne esseath!”  _ As Voldemort continued to recite the last lines of his chant, Harry fulfilled his own role and hacked and slashed away. He felt something tear near his thigh, and he wasn’t sure if it was fabric, skin or both. But what he did know was that his sword was gleaming with blood, his face shining with sweat. Voldemort was equally exhausted behind him, face scrunched up and what the fuck,  _ was Voldemort getting thinner?  _

He was. As if Harry was watching years of neglect pass through him, Voldemort’s cheeks hollowed out, the sleeves slipping off of his raised arms and exposing wrists that were definitely not that bony this morning.

_ “Raenn, vatt’ghern, raenn!”  _

“Voldemort, stop that!” 

But as soon as his cry left his mouth, the walls stopped shaking underneath the mage’s touch. It was their chance. 

He threw what little magic he had to the floor, the Yrden runes glowing and slowing the monsters down. 

Then, he did what he would have never done if he had gone to the cave alone. 

He slung Voldemort’s arm around his neck, grabbed a fistful of his expensive robes, then made a hell of a run for it. He couldn’t help but notice that the robe was far looser than it was before.

“You better live, you bastard,” panted Harry as he staggered further down the cave. Voldemort groaned beside him, his fingers clutching at Harry’s forearm. “What the hell did you do?”

“I stopped the cave from falling on our heads of course,” bit the weakened mage. “I will be fine soon.” 

_ “You were losing weight in a matter of seconds!  _ That is not even close to fine. Did you or did you not study human biology in the College, you absolute tosser? You practically ruined your metabolic processes!” Harry steered them away from a large boulder. Voldemort whipped his head around and using his free hand, threw up a barrier just as a necrophage lunged towards them. Harry didn’t dare look back, but he could hear their growling and the gnashing of their teeth as they tried to break the shield down. The barrier rattled, mirroring the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach and in his heart. “I thought you were a mage!”

“Be grateful I picked up on what I could on sorcery, else we would have truly died back then. What else could I have done? Obviously, the Flamels had not left much for me to work with, therefore the give and take part of their advanced sorcerer-esque magic could only be done through—”

“You could’ve gotten some life force from me!”

“Now  _ that  _ is a stupid idea and you know it,” Voldemort snapped, pulling away from Harry’s grasp. They both sagged to the floor immediately without the other’s support, Harry lying face up and staring at the ceiling, willing his breathing to slow down. Voldemort sat upright, using a hand on a nearby niche to steady himself. “Listen, you idiotic child.” he started a bit breathlessly. “We would have  _ both  _ been occupied if I had stolen some of your life force, and we both would’ve died even before the cave collapsed. Do you really wish to be necrophage food that badly?” 

“I just don’t fucking like this, okay? What the bloody hell am I going to do if my fucking employer dies on a mission? I don’t do tag teams, and the first time I do it, the bloody man I come with ends up dying on me!” 

“And what was I to do if you died and I survived, hm?” the man hissed dangerously. “I would have had to live with the fact that it was due to my incompetence that I got another man killed, and that I had failed the mission as well! All in one fell swoop!” 

“That should not have mattered because we don’t know fuck all about each other! I’m a witcher, I’ve got no family and no one gives a drowner’s ass about me, but aren’t you one of the most powerful wizards alive? What the hell was the world going to do if you had died? Haven’t you got a shit ton left to do?”

“Get it through your thick head, fool.” he retorted scathingly. “I preserved your life force because it was the best shot at saving my own life as well. Five trained wizards and witches died in some other hideout, witcher,  _ five _ wizards and witches that I had  _ studied under. _ ” 

“Then why the bleeding fuck is it just the two of us here?!” 

Voldemort stared at him, the scarlet in his eyes flickering out as he recuperated from magical exhaustion. The furrow in his eyebrow only got more prominent as he glared at Harry, but Harry just glowered right back at him. A stiff moment passed before Voldemort deigned to reply. “I am confident that it would take so, so much more for either of us to get killed. Sometimes, manpower isn’t worth the increased risk and vulnerability of the whole team, and you understand that because you work alone, don’t you? I know that I made the right decision, seeing as our blood is still very much warm. Now, can we please focus on the task at hand?”

Harry, to his horror, couldn’t shove the fucking emotions back to wherever the hell that shit came from, so he stubbornly tore his eyes away from the brittle ceiling and chose to glare at the wall instead. His vision blurred with a feeling that he can’t remember ever experiencing before, although the tears did not fall. 

Harry wasn’t sure what in Circe’s sacred name was wrong with him, but this man and this mission was making him feel so many different emotions that Harry had never felt in the three years that he remembered.

But maybe it was because Harry had managed to pick up on a little Elder during his stint down the Path. And maybe it was because Harry was pretty sure that if he wasn’t batshit crazy, then he had heard Voldemort say "witcher". 

And either Harry was even more shit at context clues that he had originally thought, or this bloody bastard was lying through his fucking teeth. He was hiding something, he was sure of it, and he _knew_ this mission was bonkers from the start and how could Harry decide to go through with such stupidity? How could Harry allow someone else to do something _this stupid_ with only him as backup? He didn't want some stranger's blood on his hands, _goddamnit._ Harry squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a shaky breath. 

“Give me a minute.”

Voldemort sat back up, the red totally gone from his eyes. But the alertness, all of it was back. Gods above, if Harry didn’t know any better, he would’ve accused  _ him  _ of being a witcher. “You got hurt.”

“What?” Then Harry looked at his body. His armor had seen better days, and his arm hurt like a bitch, but it wasn’t as bad as he had expected, considering that he had been up against around two dozen necrophages with genes that were fiddled with by master alchemists. “Oh, no big deal. I’m alright now.”

Harry picked himself up slowly as Voldemort rose gracefully to his feet. “Anyway, we best get going. What are you going to do about those guys?” Harry jerked his chin to the slobbering mess of hungry lab rats. 

“My magic is enough to keep the barrier up. I do not wish to assume that there is another way out of this blasted cave, although it would make me more at ease if I could just let the whole cave collapse on them.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You? Not being able to find a way to break through the anti-apparition wards?” 

Voldemort gave him an amused look and with another smug smirk, clenched a fist. The chamber beyond the barrier collapsed. 

“Lead the way, witcher.”

Harry, not wanting to give him the satisfaction and the opportunity to lord his magical abilities over him, decided to do just that. He refused to react or curse violently when he felt the gentle hum of a silent healing spell weave his arm back together. 

And he definitely did not sigh in relief when the pain started to ebb away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last thing Voldemort said in a different language was “Raenn, vatt’ghern, raenn!” which means "Run, witcher, run!"
> 
> Harry doesn't know what Tom said HAHAHA and writing Tom as extra moody is kinda funny. Also, I got the words/spells Tom used from both the Nilfgaardian language /and/ the Elder language, I took a lot of liberties with this fic, that I did. Also, for all those who actually know something about The Witcher, in this story, there's only one school and that's the one in Gryffindor. All witchers come from there.
> 
> You may be wondering where I'm going with this contract and to be honest with you, I'm wondering too HAHAHAHA okay I'm just kidding, yeah, this stuff's kinda important, but I'm placing its importance mostly on the fact that it's the first time Harry met Tom. I've actually hinted a lot at what happened to Harry, I'm kinda worried that it's gonna be a bit too obvious when I eventually get there HAHAHA bUT lettuce see
> 
> Also, yes, if you are wondering, I am taking a high school anatomy class (and I did poorly on my topic defense for my practical research class HAHAHA) buuut the author of The Witcher also uses some sciencey words so I think I'm in the green. I don't even know why I said those words, I just, I was probably stressed at that time and thinking about the test when I wrote it :D
> 
> We're almost halfway through Act Two hurrah!!! :D But I think I have to work on the eighth installment of the HPABTRLC (that title is way too long gosh) series I kinda... uh, left that hanging for a bit oops. So how are ya'll? Fingers crossed that you all are doing amazing (and if you're not, then you yourself are the source of your day's amazingness) and I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. I also hope to see some of your feedback or if you guys just wanna chat :3 Thank you for your support and see you all next time!


	6. Act II: Reenacting - Scene V

If Harry were to make a stab at guessing the amount of time he had spent in the cave, he’d say it felt just a little over half a bloody century. 

While the cave almost falling on them was the real shocker, there were lots of traps after as well. The bad part was that they had no idea how they were triggered, it was if the Flamels just swore to make the cave the most dangerous they could make it before fleeing forever. There was a magical blast that was sure to do more than just knock them back, if Voldemort hadn’t contained it in an impenetrable field. Harry had thankfully spotted a bunch of ominous-looking runes and had Voldemort take a look at them before anything bad could happen. There were also a few more weird-looking monsters, like ugly blue drowners and water hags. 

“Drowners? In a dry place like this? There’s nothing to feed on, even.” Harry muttered as he crushed the monster’s wrist with his boot and sliced its torso in half. 

Voldemort lit another one on fire, ignoring the pained and wretched-sounding howl. “They must have used all the water up for magic, making these drowners incredibly weak.”

And at last, at _fucking last,_ they reached the end of the cave.

“Now _that,_ ” Harry said flatly, pointing his finger to a polished looking set of double doors. It was almost comical, how out of place the structure looked in the crumbling cave that was as good as dead. “Is the most ridiculous thing we have seen all day.”

“It is… highly unusual,” his companion agreed. He stepped forward to examine it. “I can sense no malevolent magic.” 

So it was Harry’s turn then. He dipped his chin in concentration, narrowing his eyes and holding in his breath, focusing on the minute details that his witcher senses helped him detect.

 _There were no scuff marks on the floor, and yet the hinges suggested that the door swung outwards. Taking a closer look, the hinges looked unused and stiff. An experimental push revealed that the door_ could _open, but that was not how the Flamels got in. A sniff, and the soft smell of lavender and burning wood filled his nose. Weird._

“They used magical means to get inside. Explains why the rest of the cave wasn’t as warm or as welcoming.” Before Voldemort could respond, Harry’s fingers slipped into a small crack between the doors and pulled them open. 

His jaw dropped. 

Instead of the gloomily eccentric workroom that Harry was expecting, a big and lavishly decorated alcove lay in wait. Cream-colored candles that looked as if they came fresh from the marketplace burned softly as they levitated to surround the semicircular space. There were baskets overflowing with so many different gemstones that Harry could never name, with so many precious stones and gold coins that Harry had even entertained the thought that this was some top security Gringotts vault. 

Books and journals were sorted neatly on the shelves, beside small chests with even more jewelry glinting in the gentle candlelight. Long and thick scrolls were tucked away into large pots that came up past Harry’s knee, and numerous magical knick-knacks littered the floor. Vials and flasks of colorful liquid that bubbled, fizzed and shuddered stacked the many racks around the room. And at the very center, there was a pearly white urn on top of a cuboidal wooden table. A miniature portrait stood beside it, framed with what appeared to be colored glass. It was a painting of a couple on a velvety-looking chaise lounge, their eyes bright and their smiles youthful despite their silvery hair and creased skin. 

Harry remembered the odd tracks he found and the healing spell residue that he and Voldemort followed all the way here.

“Oh shit,” Harry swore, stepping into what he now knew was a tomb. “Nicholas Flamel is gone.”

Voldemort’s eyes flicked over to him, the look in his eyes silently asking. Harry automatically complied, hurrying to explain while stepping further in the room to investigate.

“Tracks that I got us to follow were of a small person supporting a larger person. Perenelle supporting Nicholas.” He crouched to inspect the picture, eyes drawn to their feet to confirm his thoughts. “They got close enough for Perenelle to apparate them into their hideout without using enough magic to be detectable. Possible that they also had some sort of magical system where they could only apparate a certain distance from the surface to here. You said that a healing spell had been used, Perenelle probably tried to revive him. But he didn’t make it.” He paused, sniffing the air and running a hand through a nearly unnoticeable scorch mark underneath the makeshift altar. “Before Perenelle burned the body and set this room up, this used to be their workshop. Perenelle cleaned the air, but there are still scratches and marks that may be invisible to the unaided eye, and a bit of glass here,” Harry scooped up a shard smelling of lavender. “From where they dropped a few vials but never swept them out. I also smell lavender and zinnias, one of the popular flower scents to use for a person who has died. And all of these things must be Nicholas Flamel’s work and experiments.”

“She did not take them with her as a way of honoring him, and simultaneously…” Voldemort’s blue-grey eyes swept over the room, a scarlet gleam of dawning understanding shining in them as he made the final connection. “Because they did not want this information to be found.”

Harry bit his lip, a thought coming in his mind. He was a bit too wary to ask, not wanting to be insensitive to Voldemort’s loss no matter how small he had made it seem to him. However, Harry needed answers if they were going to do this mission. “How did the team of five get killed in the mission?” He finally asked tentatively. Voldemort spared him an unmoved glance and glided towards the long scrolls and diagrams on the wall. 

“They caught the Flamels’ trail in the Unbordered Lands closest to the Ravenclaw Domain. The two were apparently working on something big, and had used a cliffside as one of their protected bases. Unluckily for the team sent, the Flamels had been working on necromantic spells and magical bombs, a rather deadly combination. An insurgence of Inferi managed to gain the upper hand on them, experimental Inferi that were immune to fire and necrophage oil.” 

Harry sucked in a breath, feeling a slight pang of regret for asking. Voldemort himself didn’t look too affected, but if there was one thing that Harry hated, it was hearing about pointless deaths.

Harry bowed his head in mourning, allowing a solemn moment of silence, before steeling himself and resolving to find closure for their souls. “The Flamels went through a lot of trouble to keep their knowledge hidden. Why is the College so intent on finding it then, if it’s not what the Flamels want? And why are all their traps so lethal?”

“From what I understand, the Flamels are too scholarly and morally ambiguous to burn their life’s work. They probably knew that the College and the King’s Dome would still attempt to recover their findings when they disappeared, so they had set up deadly traps on their many hideouts. Possibly, even building fake ones, to serve as further detriment.” Voldemort frowned. “They probably reasoned that the death of a few would be better than the death of their knowledge, or the death of even more. Of course, the Flamels had probably not factored in that the College would send in me, or that I would bring a witcher along.” 

“But _why_ is the College risking a lot for this?” Harry pressed again. Voldemort sent him a look of bemusement. 

“Many are willing to die and bend the rules of the universe for new knowledge, the College most especially.” 

Harry looked away, nodding absent-mindedly. He didn’t really understand, being content with the kind of life he lived now and the principles he went back to. He couldn’t really imagine wanting an abstract _something_ so much that he’d be willing to sacrifice himself and many others, although if Harry were to really think about, his lack of understanding and his very simple life was probably because a good 6/7th of his life was lost. 

“Witcher, come over here.” 

“What?”

“Look.” Some paper with a suspicious-looking blue tint was shoved under his nose. Harry squinted at it. 

“It’s a diagram. For another one of their hideouts.” Harry concluded. 

“Not just any diagram, dear witcher.” Voldemort gave him a predatory smile, the candles contouring his face and sharpening his cheekbones. Damn, but the man was unfairly attractive. Harry would have had a far easier time gaining the respect of some trash-talking bluebloods if he had a face like that. “I believe this is the diagram of the hideout that contains the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Not a hundred percent certain, although why else would this alcove dedicated to Flamel hold only one such map? I believe I know where this is.” Voldemort tapped the wall three times. A brief flare of dim light flashed, the air crackling with raw power, before fading away like nothing special had just occurred. Did he just— “Hold my arm, we shall come back here another time. We must find out what happened to the Stone.”

“When I said that you’d be able to crack the anti-apparition ward, I didn’t think it would take you a second to do it,” grumbled Harry, feigning disgruntlement, but inside a little awed over just how much power the mage had stored in his body. Harry politely held Voldemort’s sleeve, scowling when the man sent him an amused look in return. 

“For all your fear of apparition, you sure are in a rush to get splinched.” At those words, Harry wrapped not one but two hands around Voldemort’s arm for security, his eyebrows scrunching as he was reminded again of how quickly the man had lost a stone or a bit more than that. Voldemort chuckled, before Harry felt the nauseating tug at his navel and squeezed his eyes shut. 

Damn, he really hated magical transportation.

* * *

Harry tripped over his boots and was about to make an absolute fool of himself, before Voldemort caught him by the back of his armor. 

“Graceful,” Voldemort smirked again. Harry scowled and was about to let loose the caustic remark on the tip of his tongue, before the words melted in his throat.

“You brought us to the Shrieking Shack.” The question sounded more like a statement of fact as Harry took in the familiar sight. With its windows boarded up and its plank of a door nailed shut, it was as unfriendly as Harry remembered it being when he had stumbled upon it (or perhaps _restumbled,_ but he wouldn’t know now, would he?) about two and a half years ago. The steep roofing looked far worse, weathered by even more storms and merciless wind. 

“That I did.” Voldemort murmured, and how he managed to sound so exasperatedly condescending while maintaining his aloof air was beyond Harry. “I strongly suspect that this is a very, very old haunt of the Flamels. It would explain all the strange noises and supernatural activity the villagers had reported, not to mention the fact that the Stone may be here.”

“Say, what are you going to do with the Stone again?”

Voldemort glanced at him, giving the witcher an appraising and deliberate look, before smirking and lazily redirecting his gaze to the creepy and rickety building. “It depends.”

Harry sighed. He _was_ talking to some megalomaniac that probably got drunk on his power instead of being a normal guy who chugged down mead on Fridays. It was a little bit worrying that Harry managed to forget that just because he and the man saved each other’s skin. Life and death mattered too little to killers these days, the same could probably be said for the morals and virtues that dictate those two. “You know what I think?”

“Yes, but you’d probably say it anyway.”

“ _I think_ that the Flamels did all this buggery to keep people like _you_ from getting the Stone.” Harry marched up right to the entrance of the Shack. Voldemort fell into step beside him.

“And so my guess is proven correct. You wound me, dear witcher. Have you no faith in my goodness?” 

“None at all. So if you even _look_ like you’re going to pull some weird shit with the Stone, then I’m gonna have to kill you. Evil mages make for horrible contracts.”

“Where did you ever get that idea?”

“I—” 

_A flash of green light._

Harry stopped in his tracks, nearly losing his footing. 

_A scream. A hard shove. Green light._

Harry brought a hand to his forehead, feeling a dull ache throb beneath his scarred skin. Voldemort didn’t seem to notice, brushing past him and placing the tips of his fingers on the fragile wood. 

And with a loud boom, decimated nearly the entire front wall. 

“Oi! What the _bloody hell_ was that for, you halfwit?”

Voldemort waved a hand dismissively towards the direction of Harry’s panicked shout (he really loved doing that, what a git), and with another flourish, the front wall sans its incinerated door repaired itself back into shape. Harry squinted. Actually, the wall even looked a little cleaner than they did when they arrived, what the fuck? “Apologies, and you would do well to remember that I am many things, but an idiot is not one of them. It is hard to regain control over my magic when I have been using it at its full capacity for hours.”

Harry accepted his explanation but made a grumbling noise at the back of his throat, before dauntlessly stepping into the Shack made up of rotting wood, that is now only semi-rotting, thanks to overpowered mages who couldn’t control themselves. “Sense anything?”

“Something upstairs. One of the Flamels’ sentient guards I suppose.” Harry blanched, thinking of the unknown necrophages that they had encountered in the cave. “There are several wards as well, but they should not be a problem. It is far less-guarded here than in Nicholas Flamel’s tomb, ward-wise.”

“Prolly thought no one would look here.” Harry exhaled, closing his eyes before opening them again, the green of his irises flashing brilliantly in the dark. 

_Old, unsalvageable broken crates lined up against the wall. A chandelier with no candles swaying with the draft of wind that blew from the doorway. Scratches on the walls, most probably from a clawed creature. Faded, muddy prints that were far too old for Harry to make sense of, but they led the way upstairs. Three pairs of leather boots sodden with all sorts of muck and rain-loving pests._

“There’s definitely some sort of creature up there, only came down a couple times a few years ago. These markings all look like they’re about the same age.” Harry said over his shoulder, kneeling down to investigate a rather funny looking wooden tube. Brushing off the dust, he could see that it was some sort of flute. 

“Shall we make our way upstairs then?” 

“Alright.” Harry moved away from the corner and jogged a bit to walk beside the unflappable mage, who was looking at the soot-covered staircase with a judgemental eyebrow lift. Once Harry figured out the reason for his discomfort, he snorted. “No one’s asking you to touch it, do you need someone to hold your hand for you in case you fall?” Harry sarcastically snipped, taking the lead and ascending before Voldemort.

He was glad for it. That way, he couldn’t see the way Harry’s cheeks flamed up when the other man replied without missing a beat, “Well, I myself would be more than happy to hold you.” Harry could hear the man’s smirk, and damn, he was better off pretending it was because of his enhanced hearing. “Your own sense of balance is absolutely atrocious. It was not me who nearly tripped over grass on the way here.”

Harry snorted again and stepped on the landing, pausing before an ornate door and bringing out his hand to hover over his undrawn swords. He nonchalantly said, “Oh, well, fuck you then.” And then pushed the door open. 

_Low growling, frothing at the mouth and saliva dripping into fur. Black fur. The stench of excrete and slobber, of rusting metal and rotten breath. A deep rumble, the vibrations in the ground, high in amplitude yet relaxed in its frequency. Not for long._

“Damn. This will definitely be a story to tell. Hope the bards don’t hear about this,” Harry brought out his steel sword out of his scabbard, the _shing!_ of it muted by his careful movements and the slightly damp leather. He let out a long exhale, locking his eyes on the great silhouette of the three-headed dog in front of them. Its body twitched as it sensed a disturbance in the room. “Voldemort, do you happen to know any music spells?”

“What do you take me for, a circus magician?” 

Harry rolled his eyes to the sky. The beast snarled as it dramatically rose to stand about twenty-five feet taller than them. Combined. Harry, in the face of what they called the guard dog of hell, nonchalantly supplied, “No, but I did take you for a scholar who didn’t give a shit. Was I wrong?”

“Hm. I suppose you are not.” Voldemort crossed two digits, a purple and yellow orb sparking to life on his fingertips. The monster gave no further warning before it raised its head to howl at the ceiling. The Shrieking Shack shook on its very foundations, bits of wood and dust crumbling to land on the floor and on Harry’s head. “What do you intend to do with it?”

“Just play a song and shut up.” 

“Ah, so you wish for a more dramatic end to this affair. Plan to fight with a heroic theme song playing in the background? How self-indulgent.”

_“You fucking tosser, just fucking do it!”_

The Cerberus opened its mouth and made to swipe at Voldemort with a giant leg and a pointed fang, but Harry slid in front of him and blocked the dog’s attack with his arm and the duller side of his sword, grabbing its attention.

Harry went on the defensive and rolled away when the three-headed dog lunged at him, roaring spittle on the far walls. The massive dog skidded to a halt, snapping its jaws and flinging its heavy body in Harry’s direction once more. The witcher yelped, jumping on a flimsy stack of boxes and bouncing off of it just as the crates gave in and collapsed. The Cerberus pummeled into a stack of thick hay, leaving a large dent on the wall.

Harry landed with one hand on the ground, bouncing off of the surface again and springing backward, further away from the creature. He reflexively tightened his grip on his sword, stubbornly pointing it to the floor even as his heart picked up the pace. The dog was about to make another move, two of its heads rearing in his direction and the other trained solely on Voldemort, but Harry waited. And waited. 

As subtle as the breeze of a calm and star-filled sea, the sound of a harp fluttered into the room like the satin curtains of an open window. It drifted into Harry’s ears like the scattering of dandelions, filling up the room and coaxing the creature into silence. Voldemort smirked nearby, but he didn’t pay him any attention, his mind somewhere far away, near a long and winding river, cerulean waters pacifically lapping at stone. Harry could almost see the incorporeal golden strings that Voldemort’s magic pulled tautly, could almost feel the light hum as the rhythmic vibrations relaxed his muscles. 

It was a gorgeous illusion, for someone who didn’t claim to be a circus magician. 

The beast lowered its three heads, although its six eyes were still wary. In the darkness, the beast’s shadow looked more intense and rabid, although Harry made sure to display no trepidation. He waited for the dog’s growling to completely cease, before he slowly approached it, making an emphasized show of dropping his sword. 

“We mean no harm, Cerberus,” he murmured, not daring to startle the dog from whatever state the music lulled it into. “You may rest again.” As Harry got close enough to touch it, the dog dropped its heads into its paws, his eyes blinking rapidly before lowering. Harry gently petted the creature, each of his hands on one head, slipping his fingers into his fur and lightly scratching the dog’s integument with his trimmed nails. The Cerberus rumbled in approval. 

“Impressive. How did you know?” The purple and yellow orb rotated on its axis, spinning steadily on Voldemort’s index and middle finger. The dimly colorful light mantled his face with a breath-catching hue, giving the mage the aura of a handsome fairytale and a dangerous myth.

“I would’ve been killed far sooner if I didn’t know this shit. It’s my job.” Harry threaded his fingers one last time over the creature’s matted fur, before collecting his sword and slipping it back into its sheath. “The flute downstairs also kind of clued me in.”

“You could have just sliced the dog up.”

“Yeah, well, I _didn’t_ have to do that. The Cerberus is not some bloodthirsty beast incapable of sentient thought. Let’s go.”

With the Cerberus peacefully slumbering on the dirty floor, the pair went off to go to the next room. Harry kicked the door ajar cautiously with his toes, peering inside. He didn’t even need his senses to know what he and Voldemort were just about to walk into. He immediately grimaced at the familiar sight. 

“Ah, so they were testing them to guard the Stone,” Voldemort remarked, shooting a tiny flame to wiggle merrily in the center of the room. When the hidden Devil’s Snare did not reveal themselves yet, Voldemort enlarged the flame. It grew, feeding on the oxygen and expanding to fill up a good fourth of the musty air. The Devil’s Snare that creeped on the walls and on the floor behind the Flamels’ illusions remained motionless, still. Harry cocked his head. Voldemort frowned.

With a pinching motion, he chanted, _“Protego Diabolica.”_ The red of his flame flicked to an electric blue, the fire bursting in place and fanning itself, sweeping the area and lavishing heat upon the Flamels’ garden of dangerous curiosities. Inhumane sounding screeches filled the room, prickling Harry’s sensitive ears.

“Bloody hell, what is it with you and plotting to send the Shrieking Shack in ruins?”

“Calm down, witcher, I merely set the Devil’s Snare itself on fire. The room is unharmed. Mostly.”

“If this place collapses on us, I’m haunting you in the afterlife for eons,” Harry threatened, stepping into the room and wincing as the burnt, screaming mess of mush and vines were squished under his boot. The last of the magical blue flames were wisped out of existence by the mage’s breath. “Why are they so loud?”

“Side-effect of their experiments, I suppose. I do hope that the three-headed beast had not stirred from its sleep.”

“I don’t think it did. Your music was beautiful enough that I reckon it’d be sleeping for a long, long time.”

“Oh? You think my music was beautiful?” Voldemort opened the door and held it open for him, a mocking light in the blue-grey that made his scarlet eyes look benign. Harry scoffed, shoving Voldemort’s shoulder as he stepped past the door frame.

“The music? Yes. The wizard casting it? Not so much.” 

“Why do you antagonize me so, young witcher? We have known each other for less than 48 hours, and yet all our conversations thus far have been limited to insults.”

Harry thought back to the past few hours and almost verbally gave his agreement, before he remembered the conversation they had after the necrophages and wisely kept his mouth shut. His cheeks burned, but if _he_ was having trouble seeing in the dark, Voldemort must be too. Spell or no spell. Maybe. Circe, he hoped Voldemort couldn’t see better than he could. “Knowing my rotten luck, it’s probably written in the stars how we’re chained to a constant state of bickering and mutual dislike.”

“A man can only take so much from your sharp tongue, witcher.” He could hear faint clinking sounds. 

“And that would be one of the few things I was glad to have been stuck with.” Without his own notice, Harry’s hand automatically flew from his side, latching into a cold, metallic object that buzzed beside his ear. He blinked, before staring down at his fist and unclenching his fingers. A polished, golden key stared back at him, its wings misshapen. Harry realized he was the reason why and stuttered out an apology, brushing his thumb against the offended-looking item. “Er, sorry I broke your wing. I wasn’t looking.” He looked up, eyebrows raising as he was met with what sort of looked like a hive of bee-keys. “Did the Flamels charm you all?”

“I do not know what is more impressive, your reflexes, or the fact that you just apologized to a key and asked it a question. Are you sure you are a witcher?”

“Shut up, no one asked you for your commentary.” Harry released the key, his eyes following it as it ascended unsteadily and made its way to the other keys. “So, a room full of flying keys. Are all their hideouts full of their insane experiments that didn’t make some sort of cut?”

Voldemort glided towards the door, inspecting the lock. “I understand the Cerberus and the Devil’s Snare, but this kind of security just does not fit my image of the Flamels.”

“Who cares? We just get through it, it’s what we’re here for. What kind of key do we need to find?”

“Assuming it matches the lock on the door, we need a smaller one. Old, very old. Rusted iron.” Harry rummaged in his satchel, uncorking a bottle of shimmering Cat’s Potion and downing it in one gulp. His lips curled at the taste, his eyes blinked several times as he adjusted to the light. Staring up at the massive number of keys, he waited for the room to stop flickering in and out of bright and dark. 

“I think I see it,” Harry squinted, determined not to lose the key among the others. “The others look far newer than that one over there. It’s _really_ high up, I don’t know how I’m going to get it.”

“I am a mage, you bumbling idiot. Come here.” Harry walked towards Voldemort, although he wasn’t looking at him and was instead focused on the rusty key that he picked out from the rest. His medallion thrummed. “Congratulations, you are now spectacularly gravity-free. Well, nearly. Attempt to jump.” Harry did just that, bending his knees and propelling himself to jump up, and he gasped as he virtually threw himself in the fray of tiny excited metals. 

“That gravity-free part did not sink in. Shit, how the hell do I—?” Harry flailed for a bit, his concentration breaking as he did a somersault in mid-air, trying his best to gain control. After a few seconds of utter disgrace, Harry managed to grip a metal pipe in the corner of the room, just before he felt his body beginning to sink back to the ground. 

“That was amusing.” Voldemort called from below. Harry gave him a rude gesture for his trouble.  
  
“I said shut up.” Better prepared now, Harry made sure the angle was just right and used his boot to push against the wall, launching himself toward the key. A few others bumped his body but he ignored them, swiping after the key and rolling again in the air. He landed sprawled across the floor in a messy heap of limbs.

“It is effortless, the way you can always manage to act even stupider than before.” Harry jammed the key into Voldemort’s hand, scowling. Pale fingers swiftly unlocked the door, leaving Harry to follow after the taller man.

“Why are there so many rooms in the Shrieking Shack? When will these trials end?” Harry groaned, as Voldemort approached a giant chess set. Voldemort laughed. 

“Darling, I wager that this is a far more pleasant experience than the cave we had just narrowly left alive.”

Harry ignored the pet name given by the world’s biggest ass, poking a monstrous-looking white tower piece with a healthy amount of suspicion. “But I don’t know how to play chess, I can only move these pieces for you.”

Voldemort sighed heavily. “This is transfigurative magic, dear, the magic will do the moving. And you do not need to know the rules, as long as you have me. There is an empty spot over there, go take it and you will play as the white queen.” 

“Wait, why don’t you take that place? So you don't have to bark commands at me all the time?”

“I have to see the whole board, do I not?” Voldemort said, raising an eyebrow. As if it was obvious, and even if it was, did that give him permission to be such a massive prick? “Go on, now. I would rather accomplish what we must within the day.”

After another few traded insults and a threat to ruin a certain person's perfect cheekbones, Harry’s tiny figure sulked beside the giant white king, where Voldemort stood on ponderously. He surveyed the board, his mouth pressed slightly as he thought up a strategy and his shoes planted firmly on the white king’s crown.

“Did you know that I prefer to play as black, witcher?”

“Does it make a fucking difference?”

“It makes _all_ the difference. Pawn to E4.”

Harry’s eyes widened minutely as the hulking mass of white stone heaved and dragged its gargantuan body to move two spaces in front. The pseudo chessboard shook, nearly toppling Harry over. Harry gaped as a black pawn pushed itself to stand in front of Voldemort’s.

Surrendering to the fact that he would never be able to understand magic, or chess for that matter, Harry busied himself by looking around the empty room. It was actually cleaner than all the others. “Queen to H5.” Well, while Voldemort played, Harry tried to stew over what would happen after he and Voldemort retrieved the Stone. Would Voldemort kill him or something? Plot world domination? Chip off a bit of it, just for himself? “Witcher. _Witcher!”_

“What?” Harry broke from his reverie, craning his neck to meet the glare of his employer over thirty feet away. 

“Queen. Queen to H5.” 

“Oh yeah, I’m the Queen. Wait, er…” Harry looked around. “Where’s H5?”

If Voldemort was a lesser man, Harry could’ve imagined him putting his head in his hands. “Go to your right, the very right, the second to the last white space.”

“Is this the one?”

“Yes. Listen carefully to my instructions, I’d wish to be done with this as quickly as we can.” A black knight lugged itself past two black pawns and rested in front. “Bishop to C4.” Another black knight moved, and Voldemort sighed again. The educated are _so_ limited, when what they consider as plebeian things were out of the question for them. Even their expressions were limited, Harry snickered. “This was too easy. Dreadfully boring, in fact, I was hoping for a more stimulating game. Harry to F7. In front of that bishop over there. Checkmate.”

 _What in the seven seas was a checkmate?_ “Here?”

As soon as Harry voiced out the innocent question, all the black pieces hissed for a split second before they all shook in their places and exploded. Harry didn’t have time to react, and could only throw the sign for Quen in front of his face when several large and jagged stones flew in all directions towards him. 

His shield was not enough, although Harry had the sense to curl up and cover his head with his arms. It was like all the black pieces had fractured and slammed their sharp fragments into his body. Thankfully, he wasn't ordinary, and had bones and muscles that had suffered through far worse. He groaned as the rubble unfailingly pelted him down and flattened him to the board, feeling an edge shove itself near his diaphragm. He struggled to breathe. Stone covered his vision, and his whole face and body ached from the velocity at which the debris battered him down.

“Witcher!”

“Voldemort, are you alright?” Harry croaked, closing his eyes and squeezing. After a few more seconds of pained breathing, Harry dug himself out of the small hill. Voldemort stood on the center of the board, unharmed and unmoving. Well, at least he wasn’t dead. “Did we lose?”

“No, we won,” he answered chillingly. “The Flamels, perhaps, were not able to make the pieces unbeatable, but instead spelled them to try and kill whoever managed to win. An ordinary person who took the queen's place would have probably died. I should not have led you there.”

“It's fine, I'm alive aren't I?" Harry spat out a stray pebble. Shattered rock dust was spewed from his mouth. "I thought chess… took hours?” Harry wheezed as he finally staggered to an upright position, holding his bruised arm close to his chest. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “Damn, the Flamels are sadistic bastards.”

“Chess is quick for the merciless that are up against the ignorant. Come, we must proceed.”

The next few trials went by even quicker than the obstacle of the Devil’s Snare. When Voldemort froze the mountain troll to stone and kicked it down, Harry wondered why the Flamels even bothered setting up this very, _very_ elaborate trap. And why there were so damned many. Although, some of them seemed particularly lethal, like that batshit crazy chess set they had left in the other hall.

The next chamber was full of potions, and what appeared to be a riddle. Harry couldn’t even finish reading half of it before Voldemort did a very un-Voldemort thing to do and crumpled the paper to the ground, picking up a seemingly-random potion from the row of seven. Knowing Voldemort, though, he probably already knew which potion did which.

“That fire over there, it cannot hurt you. I am drinking this foul concoction, and will follow after you.” 

“Are you sure it can’t hurt me? What if you were just trying to get rid of me?” In Harry's opinion, now was a more perfect time than ever to kill him off and finish the task alone.

“That is one of the stupidest things I have ever heard, and I have witnessed people sing praises to Lord Fudge.”

“How are you so sure I won’t get hurt?” Harry put his face so close to the fire, glowering at it and wondering if it was going to burn him to death. 

“I recognize this magic, and it isn’t designed to hurt foolish and good-hearted non-humans like you. You are practically locking lips with the flame, and you can’t feel a thing. Just go, you mutant.” And Harry was knocked into the flames despite his loud protests and uncouth swear words, and Voldemort followed right after and practically dragged him out to the next chamber. “Was that so difficult that you absolutely needed to throw that big of a fit?”

“I didn’t throw a fucking fit, and I had every right to anyway, because I didn’t know if I was going to live or not, you prat! Gods, was that the last one?”

When Voldemort didn’t speak, Harry looked up from his budding argument with the mage and tilted his head. There stood a full-length mirror, its clawed feet still polished and its golden, ornate frame gleaming immaculately. This room, while empty, was the fanciest in all of the Shrieking Shack’s expanded obstacle halls, Harry noted absent-mindedly. Voldemort’s long robes noiselessly flowed behind him on the white limestone, looking like a river of black ink. Harry followed. 

_"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi."_ Harry read out loud. “What language is this, Elder? Er, wait. Desire… arts… uh. Oh. I show not your face, but your heart’s desire?” 

“The legendary Mirror of Erised,” Voldemort breathed, eyes widened. Harry did a double take. He sounded a bit different, almost a bit like how he sounded like when they fought at Marvolo's. “This is one of the most dangerous magical artifacts recorded in history, although its origin is still unknown. The Flamels were rumored to have recovered it on one of their expeditions, but why is it… why is it here?” Voldemort murmured hoarsely, looking to Harry like the proper scholar he was, absorbed in some other useless thing or the other _all for the knowledge!_ as they usually proclaimed. 

“Wait, why is this thing dangerous?” Harry squinted at the glass. Was there anything special about this mirror-artifact thing, other than its weird as hell inscription? It wasn’t even written in an ancient and lost language, it couldn’t be that special or ancient, he reasoned. He waved with his right hand, and his reflection waved back. “Looks pretty normal to me.”

“People go mad looking at this mirror.” Voldemort continued, like he hadn’t heard Harry. At the unchanging and soft inflection of his voice, Harry’s head snapped to regard the mage with incredulity. He was acting strange. “Did the Flamels hope to trap the poor souls that were unfortunate enough to have stumbled here?” Voldemort fell silent. 

It was like watching a master working a hypnosis, like watching a man fall under his Axii spell, but ten times worse. Harry hadn’t seen an _intelligent_ man fall under his harmless confounding spell, but now that he had seen what it could’ve looked like, he was rather glad that Axii couldn’t bend human thought as much as he used to wish it could. Harry looked back and forth between the (normal! maybe?) mirror and the seasoned mage, wondering if it was some kind of joke that he was playing on him. When the other man took a step forward, looking as if he was going to touch the glass, Harry panicked and acted before he thought things through.

He stepped in between Voldemort and the mirror, and he slapped him. Hard. 

“Wake the fuck up, Voldemort! What the hell’s going on?” Harry shoved him out of the way, just in case the mirror had some sort of effect on Voldemort’s precious brain cells. He stumbled but didn’t resist Harry’s push, using a hand to steady himself on the far wall. 

“A… apologies.” Voldemort ran a hand through his hair, his eyes momentarily flashing scarlet. Harry bit down the urge to gulp. “Does it,” he looked like he was struggling with words, something that would’ve been funny in any other situation but this. “Do you not feel anything?”

“I don’t, it’s just a regular mirror. To me, anyway.”

_“What?”_

This time _Harry_ was the one who was shoved away. Voldemort stared at the mirror, holding the frame tightly with each of his hands and leaning towards it, eyes wild and scanning every inch he could. There was uncharacteristic bewilderment in his expression.

“Look, I don’t know if it’s just me or some mutant thing, but nothing’s happe— _holy SHIT, Voldemort it winked at me!_ Holy shit!"

"Witcher, what in Salazar's name are you fantasizing about in the deepest parts of your mind? To be a whoring flirt?"

Harry’s reflection winked and smirked before turning away from where it was just about to rip a new one out on the mirror-Voldemort. He pulled a blood red stone from his pocket. His reflection slipped it back in, winking, before moving once more to match Harry’s alarmed face. 

“I fucking hate creepy magic, that was some creepy ass shit, Voldemort, let’s get the bloody hell out of here or I’m going to fucking carve my way out—” 

And then he felt it. The heavy weight in his pocket. He froze, and Voldemort froze, and Voldemort was staring down at the bulge in his side pocket and Harry was about to keel over from shock and his medallion was practically bouncing off of his chest and God, he was an affront to all things natural, no wonder magic hated him so much. He was going to smash the mirror into pieces if this continued.

With shaky fingers, he pulled out the Philosopher’s Stone from his pocket. 

Without another word, Voldemort grabbed his arm and apparated away. But before Harry was subjected to the sickening feeling of being squeezed in and out of the physical realm, Harry stole one last look at the mirror.

It was just a regular mirror. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's another chapter! I ended up not working on my series whoops but I'm glad to give those who actually read this story a new chapter! <3 Hope you all are faring alright. School is killing me, as usual. 
> 
> This chapter was rather rushed as I've got a billion things to do and a chicken to eat for lunch downstairs :D And we are done with their first contract! We're more than halfway through Act II and that's pretty cool! I also realized that these two idiots are arguing in literally every conversation. Gosh, I hope no one has the misfortune of sitting through a conversation with these two. 
> 
> And yes, I totally copy-pasted the seven obstacles from Philosopher's Stone HAHAHA of course, I made it a bit more erm, dangerous? I could say? Well, I mean, the chess part could've killed someone and the Cerberus was pretty deadly, considering there was no Hagrid to accidentally spill, and the Devil's Snare wasn't reacting at all so any other normal person would've died for sure and I am rambling I shall stop trying to defend my life choices now.
> 
> My chicken is ah-waiting for me! Stay safe everyone! <3 Hope to see you all in the next chapter! Any feedback is much appreciated, I'd love to knock all your socks off as I think of how I"m going to wrap Act II up :>>
> 
> Edit: Just in case I didn't mention it or some of you forgot, witchers really, really hate magic stuff because it hates them. Magic doesn't take kindly to their unnatural powers, which is why Harry wants to leave like. ASAP. Also, I have no idea how to play chess and just googled up one of the fastest ways the white side could win, and I think that was pretty obvious to chess players but okay yeah

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Terrific_Lunacy for all your fics that inspired 12-year-old me (oops I may have been too young) to try their own hand at writing! I literally read all your fics like about four times already. Thank you for the amazing stories, for breathing life into the characters and giving me something to look forward to after tiring days at school. Thank you for being an inspiration and a huge part of the reason why I'm going into unfamiliar territory and writing a long fic that I may or may not mess up HAHAHAHA oh no :>
> 
> And thank you to RenderedReversed for writing all those fics that I'd read over and over again. Your fics are so enrapturing and so nice to read, I literally lose myself in them and most of the time, I don't stop reading 'till I'm finished or my eyes start to hurt, whichever comes first. Thank you for being part of the reason why I'm going out of my shell to try and write a fic like this, for making quarantine a lot more fun and relaxing, for inspiring me <3
> 
> And thank you to those who are reading right now, I hope you enjoy this story. Stay safe everyone!


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